


Becoming Us (Part 2)

by VivacissimoVoce



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark Mark, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry, Redeemed Draco, Romance, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 56,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivacissimoVoce/pseuds/VivacissimoVoce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco have discovered their feelings for each other.  Now they must decide whether to keep their relationship a secret or share it with the world.  Starts 20 minutes after the conclusion of Part 1 and takes them through the end of their 8th year at Hogwarts.  Non-canon Dark Mark backstory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.
> 
> This is part 2 of 2 stories that follow Harry and Draco from the start of their 8th year to the culmination of their relationship, and is the second half of the first Drarry I ever wrote. Please see Becoming Us (Part 1) for the beginning of the story. Contains mature content and language.

Harry Potter lay very still. He had drifted off to sleep for a few minutes, his body sated and comatose with pleasure. He dipped briefly into the land of dreams and when he surfaced into consciousness again he was momentarily disoriented. He was lying naked in his bed on his side and facing his desk. It was day. Why was he sleeping naked during the day? Then he remembered.

He had shagged Draco Malfoy. Well, Draco Malfoy had shagged him. Whatever, they’d shagged each other.

He savored with exquisite detail the sensation of Draco’s mouth on his, and Draco’s mouth elsewhere. Afterwards they’d curled up together and drifted off. Although, he thought, if that’s what had happened, why was he now lying by himself on his side instead of nestled in Draco’s arms?

A sick sudden thought occurred to him: Had it really happened? Was he just confused from dreaming? Or had Draco left? What if he had decided it was a mistake and slipped out while he could?

Harry lay frozen, wondering how devastated he would feel if he rolled over and Draco was gone. Or worse, if it seemed he had never been there in the first place. Shagging Draco Malfoy had been on his wishlist for so long, maybe he’d finally gone mad and hallucinated it.

Just then the bed jostled. A warm, lean, naked body rolled over, pressing up against Harry’s back and entangling his legs. A pale, bandaged arm slipped around his waist and pulled him close. A hard prick poked his bum.

“Are you pretending to be asleep?” a haughty voice demanded, lips brushing against his ear lobe.

Harry grinned as relief flooded through him. He rolled over, wrapping his arms around the boy in his bed. “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Draco nuzzled Harry, his lips just barely grazing the other boy’s as he spoke. “Twenty minutes, maybe.” He flicked his tongue out licked Harry’s mouth with just the slightest tickle.

Harry couldn’t resist. He pulled Draco in and kissed him deeply, marvelling at the wonderful sensation. He’d kissed girls before, just a few but enough to feel experienced, but this was nothing like that. Goosebumps crawled across his skin and he found himself wishing they could stay like this, snogging forever and ever. He’d never wanted to snog forever and ever before.

He reached down and grasped Draco’s knob just because he could, and Draco quickly grasped him in return. They worked each other vigorously, breath raw, bodies pressed together, bed creaking beneath them rhythmically. They climaxed in the same moment, gloriously synchronised. Draco insisted this time that Harry find his wand and do a proper clean-up spell.

“Now what?” Harry sat on the edge of the bed and glanced over his shoulder at his Slytherin guest. Malfoy was sprawled luxuriously across the bed, arms behind his head and legs thrown wide. He reached out and snagged Harry’s wrist and pulled him down again.

“We’ve waited too long for this, Potter,” he seized Harry’s other arm and dragged him across the mattress towards him. “We’re not done until we’re chapped and sore.”

Harry twisted and grappled for freedom, feeling like he’d fallen into a bed of Devil’s Snare. Draco laughed and redoubled his efforts to cling to the Gryffindor boy.

“You can’t escape me now, Potter,” he laughed as Harry reversed his tactics, throwing himself on top of Draco and trying to smush him into submission. “After all this time I’ve finally got you in bed and you’re just going to have to let me have my way with you.”

“Not if I have my way first,” Harry rolled over and laid on top of Malfoy, his hands on either side of his head. His legs fit comfortably between Draco’s legs. Suddenly his stomach growled loudly. ‘If I don’t die of hunger.”

“We can’t have that,” Draco popped his head up off of the pillow and planted a kiss on Harry’s mouth. “Not before we’ve had a proper shag.”

“A proper shag,” Harry murmured, thinking about what that entailed. His nether region twitched to signal its interest.

“I need food, too,” Draco gently rolled Harry to one side and sat up as his own stomach voiced its need.

The two gathered their clothing and dressed reluctantly. Draco had only his formal clothes, but he chose to carry his jacket rather than putting it on. Harry picked a more casual fitted pullover and corduroys.

‘Cloak?” Draco raised his eyebrows.

“I guess so,” Harry scratched his nose. “Do we need it?”

“Are you ready to explain to your housemates what I was doing in your room?”

“No, I guess not,” Harry scooped the invisibility cloak off of the floor and handed it over.

Draco slipped it over his head and took Harry’s arm. They shuffled out carefully, then made their way to the base of the tower stairs. The common room was packed with students, some listening to music, some doing homework, some pawing at each other in a fit of teenage hormones. No one noticed Harry’s passage, much to his relief. Malfoy was right, he wasn’t ready to explain this.

They exited through the portrait and descended to the main floor before Draco slid the cloak off. He peered around to make sure they were alone, then planted a deep, wet kiss on Harry’s lips. It was thrilling, kissing a boy in the corridor like that.

They grabbed a few items from the kitchen and gobbled them down, grateful for the off-hours option now that it was too late for lunch. Then they wandered the school for a bit, holding hands when they were alone, shoving their hands into their pockets when classmates passed by. Ideally Harry should have been in Slughorn’s classroom polishing pestles. And ideally Draco should have been down on the quidditch pitch practicing. But neither was inclined to part ways.

They found themselves in the breezeway, arms around each other, caressing backs, shoulders, and hair. They found themselves down by the lake, curled up together at the end of the dock, watching for signs of the giant squid. They found themselves skirting the edge of the forbidden forest, ducking in and out of the shadows and exchanging long kisses up against the crooked tree trunks.

It was exciting and new and thrilling and scary and confusing, all at the same time. Each kiss swept Harry up in a rush of desire, but in between he was conflicted. Kissing Draco felt right, more right than anything he’d ever done before. He’d always known that this was what he wanted, and now it was finally happening. But rationally he knew it was wrong. There were words for what they were doing. His stomach quaked when he thought about what people would say. But that didn't stop him from pressing his mouth against the other boy whenever they ducked out of sight. It was wrong, he thought, but he wasn't going to stop. Not now, not after wanting it for so long. Not when it felt so right.

A week ago he wouldn't have considered kissing Draco Malfoy. He had thought about it a lot, every minute of every day it seemed. But he wouldn't have acted on it. He wouldn't have dreamed that Draco was wrong in the same way Harry was. That someone so amazing wanted him back was almost beyond belief.

And Draco clearly wanted him back. His hands were constantly moving, reaching and touching and pulling Harry close whenever they could. He seemed totally comfortable with his needs, never once pausing to question whether it was natural or whether they should stop. Harry questioned it. He said as much to Draco as they huddled in a dusty, forgotten corridor on the fifth floor as the afternoon faded into evening.

"What we're doing is wrong, isn't it?" Harry asked.

"In what way?" Draco was tracing the curve of Harry's collar bone with his fingertips.

"It's not normal, is it? Two boys, I mean," Harry closed his eyes and sighed with pleasure. He trailed his fingers up Draco's spine, eliciting a similar sigh from the other boy.

"Of course it is," Draco paused and frowned. "I mean, it may not be common, but it happens."

"I know it happens," Harry tried to explain. "But it's not supposed to."

"If it wasn't supposed to happen, it wouldn't happen," Draco said simply.

"If people knew," Harry looked Draco in the eye and marveled at the depth of his gray irises, "they would say--" he couldn't finish, the words caught in his throat.

"No one needs to know," Draco said simply. "Besides, who cares what they say?" He buried his face in Harry's neck, tasting the salty skin there.

Every hair on Harry's body stood on end at the erotic sensation, quieting any response he might have offered. But in the back of his mind he knew what he would have said. He cared what people would say. He wished he didn't but he did. And the part of him that cared trembled at the words. Not enough to stop kissing Draco Malfoy, of course. But tremble nonetheless.

When evening fell they did their duty and joined their assigned houses in the Great Hall for dinner. Harry felt cold and exposed without Draco’s arm around him. Strange how his perception had changed so fast. Ron and Hermione were absent, off in London for the weekend. It was the trip Harry was supposed to have been on, tagging along as a third wheel. He imagined bringing Draco Malfoy, walking arm in arm next to his best friends, two couples enjoying the London nightlife. He blanched at the thought. It was an absurd fantasy.

After dinner Draco was waylaid by his team members, all of whom wanted to impress upon him the importance of attending practice. Harry, having no excuse to stay, exited alone as Malfoy responded to his teammates in the most Malfoy of tones: commanding, disdainful, and dismissive. Harry hid a smirk in his sleeve as the Slytherin boy’s voice rang clear across the Great Hall and spilled out into the entryway beyond.

He had nothing to do with his evening so he made his way back to the Gryffindor common room and played some wizard chess with Neville. And while it was nice to hang out with his housemates and old friends for a while, it wasn’t how he wanted to spend his evening. After winning his third match against Neville, he excused himself to the bathroom for a slash. He paused to wash his hands and looked up at himself in the mirror. He inspected his green eyes closely, looking for signs of new maturity or a more subtle change.

He didn’t feel any different, so he wasn’t sure why he thought he might look different. He wasn’t different, he told himself. So he’d been with a boy, that didn’t make him a changed person. He’d always liked boys, so nothing was really different between yesterday and today. The only difference was that he’d done it, he’d done the thing he’d thought about so many times before. It wasn’t even worth worrying about, he thought. It wasn’t like he’d gone with just any boy, it wasn’t like he would go with anyone who came along. He’d been with one specific person who was very special to him. It didn’t mean he had changed or should be labeled or have to admit to being a particular way.

He didn’t like where this line of thinking was going. His heart pounded and his mind swam. A brief vision of fists and feet and cowering in fear flickered across his mind’s eye, but he quickly squashed it down. He thought instead about his last trip to London with Ron and Hermione. Everywhere they went the muggles carried twee little devices that they could use to call or send messages to each other. Sometimes he wished the wizarding world wasn’t so opposed to technology, because one of those devices would be handy right now, just to find out where Draco was and what his plans were for the night.

And as he was thinking that, a green spark floated through the white tiled wall and hovered directly in front of him, flashing and sparkling. Harry quickly dried his hands and darted from the boys’ bathroom. Neville called after him as he ran past, but he didn’t bother answering. He threw the painting door open and slipped out.

He was halfway down the first flight of stairs when he heard his name.

“Where in blazes are you going, Potter?” Draco stood on the landing and stared down at him. The stairwell had already begun its swing across the tower.

“I thought--” Harry was confused. “The breezeway--” he tossed up his hands in frustration, “The bloody beacon doesn’t tell me where to go!”

Draco had to raise his voice to be heard as the stairs swung about and made contact with the other wall. “Next time I’ll send an owl.”

“This sodding staircase is taking too long,” Harry complained. It began its slow swing back towards the Gryffindor entrance. He held the railing, standing as close to the free edge as he dared, impatiently waiting to cross back onto the landing. Finally it thudded into place and he jumped at Draco, driving him back to the opposite wall.

“Wait wait,” Draco held him off, listening carefully. “Someone is coming up.”

Harry cursed and dragged Draco along beneath the enchanted portraits. At the end of the row there was a narrow corridor that ended in an alcove. They ducked out of sight as Harry’s housemates climbed into view.

Finally alone, the two boys kissed deeply to make up for the last two hours apart. Harry wished he had planned ahead and brought the invisibility cloak. But Malfoy wasn’t moving in the direction of the bedroom. He eventually released Harry’s mouth and looked aggrieved.

“I can’t stay the night,” he said, his voice pained. “Zabini’s all over me for missing practice. He knows we’re friends and he knows we hung out today. I need to stay in so he doesn’t figure out what’s going on.”

“Do you really think he cares?” Harry’s heart was leaden with disappointment.

“More than anyone else,” Draco nodded. “He’s been trying to take me down for weeks. He would do anything to discredit me and win the favor of Slytherin house.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry was confused, bitter and confused.

“It’s a power play,” Malfoy seemed surprised that Harry wasn’t intimately acquainted with house politics. “I hold the most sway over the underclassmen, but only as long as I command their respect. If Blaise can convince them that I’m not to be respected, he could take my place.”

“It’s not like that in Gryffindor,” Harry shook his head. He took a step back and jammed his hands into his pockets. He didn’t understand but he knew what it meant: sleeping alone tonight.

“I can’t lose my status,” Draco’s brow was furrowed. He wasn’t sure how to explain the importance to someone who wasn’t embroiled in similar social dynamics. “Slytherin doesn’t treat those who fall from power well. There could be lifelong consequences from former Slytherins who don’t forget.”

“I see,” Harry lied. “What about tomorrow?”

“I had to agree to practice all day to get them off of my back,” Draco’s voice was miserable and guilt-ridden.

“Okay,” Harry couldn’t look at him. He stared at his feet instead.

“Harry,” Draco said his name like a sigh of a passing breeze.

Harry had never heard Draco say his name like that before. The knot in his stomach dissolved as he looked up into the other boy’s eyes.

“After practice I want to spend the whole night with you,” Draco said in the same soft voice.

“Okay,” Harry reluctantly agreed. “I guess I need to study tomorrow anyway. Come find me after dinner.”

“Absolutely,” Draco smiled and folded Harry into his arms. Harry inhaled the warm, masculine scent of the other boy and knew he would be counting the minutes until tomorrow evening.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco returned to the dungeons to wallow in misery. He entered the common room and flopped down by the fireplace, shoving a third year boy out of the way. The boy scrambled to the edge of the sofa, properly cowed. He glowered into the flickering flames and snapped his fingers at a pair of first-years who were listening to music. Their cheeks flushed and they turned the volume down.

Harry would never understand this. Slytherin house was all about the social pecking order. Without clout, he was nothing. If he lost his position of respect, it might affect future business deals, it might reduce his social standing, it would wreck any political ambitions. Even former Slytherins who didn’t attend school when Draco did would hear it through whispers and gossip and they would treat him poorly, too. It was better in Slytherin house to stay a nobody than to rise and fall. Draco Malfoy had risen in his first year. Now in his eighth, he had to maintain his unprecedented streak of influence.

Blaise Zabini clearly had other ideas. He was savvy, cutthroat and patient, as only the son of a scheming seven-time gold-digger could be. He’d learned from the best. He was also handsome, which never hurt in a popularity contest, and he came from wealth. Draco was still the wealthiest student, by far, especially now that he’d legally inherited his family’s fortune in full. But the Zabini family’s riches were respectable.

In theory, Blaise was the best positioned of anyone to shift the balance of power. He had all of the qualities needed to ascend to the top of the Slytherin social pyramid. But only if he toppled Draco Malfoy first. He had led the after dinner ambush in the Great Hall, and as his quidditch team members berated him for his absence he could see the gleam of success in Blaise’s eye. This was just the beginning, Draco was certain.

“Hello, lover,” a voice purred behind Draco’s head as a pair of hands stroked his hair.

“What do you want, Pansy?” Draco was not amused, never breaking eye contact with the fireplace.

“In the mood for a little roleplay?” Pansy wasn’t even trying to conceal the come-on. She knew she had the attention of everyone in the room, as they eavesdropped without subtlety.

“I don’t have the costume anymore,” he replied, letting the bored drawl that came so naturally color his tone.

“Oh pooh,” she stopped stroking his head and stalked around to the front of the couch, shoving the third-year boy over again and flopping next to Draco.

Pansy enjoyed a popularity that was unrivaled by any of the other Slytherin girls. This was partly because most of the seventh-year Slytherin girls had been pulled out of school by their parents immediately after the war. Pansy didn’t need to cozy up to him to ensure her authority was recognized. In fact, he hated to admit to it but it might be beneficial to him if he cozied up to her.

He shifted his weight on the sofa to give her more room and tossed his arm casually around her shoulder in what he hoped would be interpreted as a friend gesture, not a relationship one. Pansy sighed and leaned into him, and they sat in companionable silence.

Draco tipped his head back and closed his eyes. If he let his mind drift, he might be able to convince himself that the head on his shoulder was Harry’s. But of course that was the moment Pansy decided to tell him about her day. Difficult to fantasize about the Potter boy when he was cuddled up to a prattling teenage girl.

He listened with half an ear, nodding and responding with a word here and there when it seemed appropriate. He paid close attention to the way their housemates accommodated them, migrating their conversations to the fringe of the room and moving about quietly around as he and Pansy talked.

Around ten the dungeon entrance swung open and Blaise entered, accompanied by a pretty sixth year girl in evening attire. Draco looked up and eyed the other boy’s date appraisingly, then returned to his attention to Pansy with a dismissive air that he knew Zabini hadn’t missed. He also knew Blaise hadn’t missed spotting his arm around Pansy’s shoulder, a sign of unity that wouldn’t sit well with him.

Zabini and his date departed for the sleeping chambers, and Draco hoped that between his presence tonight and a strong quidditch practice tomorrow, he would put this little power struggle to bed. All without discussing his sexuality, which he certainly wasn’t ready to share.

The lowerclassmen departed for lights out, then the upperclassmen. Draco was careful to hear Pansy out. It wouldn’t do to spend an evening showing off their rapport and then wreck it by preemptively exiting before she was ready. Draco experienced a distinctly uncomfortable epiphany that, by definition, that meant Pansy was at the top of the social pyramid. But there was nothing to be done about it, not as long as Blaise was looking for a way to shift the balance of power.

Being a Slytherin was exhausting sometimes.

As Draco lay in his bed, listening to the soft sounds of the sleeping dungeon outside, he wondered if he could sneak away for a bit, maybe Apparate to Gryffindor and send the little green spark to rouse Harry and bring him running. He smiled to himself, picturing Potter’s frustration as the tower stairs swung him about. That goofy smile, those sparkling green eyes, that warm, indescribable smell of his hair. He really ought to summon Potter from bed.

But who knew if Harry was asleep already? It would be terrible to send out the beacon, wait and wait, and finally leave unsatisfied. The beacon charm was okay, but it wasn’t foolproof. Not quite tired enough to sleep, Draco got up and retrieved his wand. Nothing wrong with a little workshopping, he figured.

It was past midnight by the time he went back to bed. He’d managed to work off his pent up energy and settle his whirling mind. He was exhausted and knew quidditch practice would take it out of him. He drifted off to sleep wishing he could take a break from his obligations.

Quidditch practice started early, in fact the team only stopped by the Great Hall long enough to grab a few portable edibles and head down to the pitch. The players filed into the boys’ and girls’ dressing rooms and donned their uniforms, none of them terribly thrilled about the all-day workout ahead of them. They grabbed their brooms from the racks and headed out to the field. The team captain was a seventh year half-blood by the name of Charles Greenwald. He told them to mount and take to the skies, but instead of obeying, Draco stayed put on the ground. Charles descended as quickly as he had risen.

“Let’s go, Malfoy,” the boy’s voice was conflicted. On the one hand he was nervous about ordering Draco aloft. On the other hand, as team captain he had to show strong leadership.

“What’s your plan, Greenwald?” Draco leaned on his broom casually. “Are we really doing an all day practice?”

“Yes,” Charles raised his chin defiantly. “Practice was bloody awful yesterday, and you weren’t here. We go up against Gryffindor next Saturday and we couldn’t beat Hufflepuff in our current state.”

“So this was your idea?” Draco still didn’t budge. This was part of maintaining his position of authority, making the team captain answer his questions before taking off.

“It was Zabini’s idea,” Charles jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the stands.

“Zabini’s not even on the team,” Draco’s eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t show up yesterday,” Charles looked defensive. “Seekers are supposed to be team leaders. What are we supposed to do when you don’t even show up? Zabini offered to act as a team manager and it sounded like a good idea.”

“Team manager,” Draco snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

He kicked off without telling Charles they were done. Another power move. They rose to the goal hoops and Draco ordered the chasers to begin tossing around the quaffle. He and Charles moved around the team as the first string and second string players squared off. They were organizing the players against each other for some defense exercises when Draco spotted something he didn’t like.

Blaise Zabini was sitting in the Slytherin stands, his legs up on the riser in front of him, leaning back casually and speaking to a fifth-year girl in chaser attire. Draco sailed up and over the scuffle and drifted over to Zabini’s perch.

“--backup seeker,” Blaise was saying as Draco drew within hearing distance. The other boy smiled poisonously, his white teeth standing out like bared fangs. “Hullo, Malfoy, good of you to join us.”

“Will you excuse us?” Draco said to the fifth-year girl, eyebrow raised imperiously. He couldn’t remember her name, but that was hardly his problem. She nodded quickly and darted off to join the rest of the team near the goal hoops. Draco landed gracefully in the spectator box and studied Blaise silently.

“How are you feeling today. Draco?” his darker housemate broke the silence first. Advantage: Malfoy, thought Draco.

“Smashing,” he quipped, offering nothing more.

“Lilia and I were just discussing her excellent broom skills,” Zabini nodded towards the pitch. “She’s quite fast. Excellent reflexes.”

“Yes, I overheard you doing a bit of recruiting.”

“It’s only smart to have a second string seeker, Draco.”

Blaise was using his first name to imply close acquaintanceship. Old Draco might have fallen for the ploy, flattered by the appeal. Old Draco never turned down flattery. It wouldn’t work now.

“No one can keep up with me and you know it, Zabini.”

“With some training I think she might,” Blaise shrugged casually, but his words were meant as a threat. He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward for emphasis, “Maybe she could actually beat Potter to the snitch.”

Low blow. Draco narrowed his eyes, then caught himself in annoyance. He mustn’t react. “Unless you’ve got a speed spell up your sleeve, that’s not likely.”

“Are you defending yourself,” Blaise smiled dangerously, “or your boyfriend?”

Draco’s stomach dropped. He steeled himself and refused to let it show. What did Zabini know? Had he seen something? Was he guessing? Was this just your typical schoolboy joking? Protesting the statement would only make it look like there was truth to it.

“When’s the last time anyone beat Gryffindor to the snitch?” he replied calmly.

“I’m sure it’s much harder to do so when you’re more focused on his arse than the game,” Zabini looked smug. Draco wanted to punch the smugness off of his face.

“Sounds like you’re the one who’s thinking about his arse,” he shot back. Zabini’s eyes darkened.

“Everybody knows you’re a bloody poofter,” Blaise snapped.

“Is that so?” Draco smirked. Blase was losing his temper. Advantage: Malfoy again. “Have you been sewing the seeds of discontent behind my back?”

“If you weren’t out prancing about with Harry flipping Potter I wouldn’t have the opportunity,” Blaise rose to his feet. He was clearly aware that he’d given away his advantage and now tried to make up for it with height. Draco wasn’t concerned about the inch of difference between them.

“So what is it then?” Draco affected a concerned posture. “Are you really trying to take me down, or is this a cry for attention? I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much. I know it must be hard for you, always losing father figures.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” Blaise hissed through clenched teeth. His eyes flashed angrily. “You can pretend there’s nothing going on, but you haven’t got me fooled. You and Potter are a couple of pillow biters and there’s no use denying it. And when everyone else finds out you won’t have a friend in Slytherin house.”

“Blaise,” Draco shook his head pityingly, “it’s not a power struggle if you’re the only one who’s struggling. If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed on the pitch. You have fun over here, managing, or whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

Draco kicked off of the edge of the spectator box and headed back into the fray. He quickly accelerated to top speed and whizzed past the team’s first string keeper, so close that the boy spun around on his broom. Draco took a fast lap around the field, needing a few moments to compose himself. He’d won the confrontation, but Blaise Zabini wouldn’t be satisfied. He’d clearly decided that he was the rightful leader of Slytherin house and was hellbent on dethroning his competitor. The problem was, he was right. If word got out about his dalliances with another boy, he would be finished.

And that was a problem.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry did not enjoy studying. Perhaps if he was falling behind in a class he liked, he might enjoy the task. But his weakness was Herbology, as usual. He hated Herbology. But he knew it was important if he wanted to pass the NEWT exams with high enough marks to be accepted into the Auror Academy. So he studied, and he hated every minute of it.

He sat in the library, tucked back into the corner, near the books on wand crafting. No one built their own wands these days, he would be safe from interruption here. Ron and Hermione weren’t due back from London until evening anyway.

He wondered whether he should tell them about Draco Malfoy. On the one hand he knew it was important to be honest with his friends. On the other hand he was afraid they wouldn’t understand. Well, Hermione might eventually. Ron, on the other hand, he was afraid of what Ron’s reaction would be. And he couldn’t afford to lose Ron’s friendship, because that would mean losing the Weasley family, and the Weasley family was the closest thing Harry had to a family of his own. When he thought about looking Molly Weasley in the eyes and telling her he was--

He paused. What was he? What would he be admitting? He was the same person he always was. What would he tell her? That he had slept with Draco Malfoy? No, one didn’t simply share one’s bedroom exploits like that. That he wanted to be with Draco and no one else? Maybe. That he was--

There was that pause again. He couldn’t decide what label to put on himself. He didn’t want to be labeled. He’d dated Ginny, and now he wanted to date Draco. That seemed to defy any standard label.

Regardless, he shook his head to clear his thoughts, he wouldn’t be telling Molly Weasley anything. Because no matter how he phrased it, it would never be seen as normal. Not in the conservative wizarding world. They would probably try to find a spell to change him, to make him into the Harry they’d always thought he was. They’d look for potions, check to see if he’d been cursed. They wouldn’t just accept it, because it just wasn’t done.

The last time Harry had visited London with Ron and Hermione he’d seen boys holding hands all over the city. Not in the majority, of course, but often enough to notice. And no one else seemed to care. They had hit a number of tourist highlights and he’d seen boys paired up every place they went. No one pointed at them, no one sent them away, no one snickered or struck them or made jokes. They were out in the open without fear of reprisal.

But Diagon Alley was a far cry from Trafalgar Square. While goblins and house elves were regarded with barely piqued interest, two boys walking hand in hand would cause a stir. Especially if the two in question were The Boy Who Lived and a Death Eater. It would be scandalous, splashed all over the front page of the Daily Prophet.

Harry tried to force his attention back to Herbology but he couldn’t stop his mind from following a more negative path. If he couldn’t tell his friends, and Draco had to hide it from his Slytherin housemates, and they couldn’t show their affections in public, where did that leave them? Secret lovers? Could one really keep a secret like that for long? How would they ever find a way to be together if they had to avoid suspicion that they were, in fact, together? It all seemed futile.

He pushed his hair back from his forehead, and sighed in frustration. It wasn’t anyone’s business. Why should he have to entertain these kinds of questions? It wasn’t fair, knowing he would be invited to the Burrow for Christmas, and he couldn’t bring the one person he’d most like to share the holiday with. It wasn’t fair having to think about this sort of thing.

“Get back to work,” he chided himself, tapping his quill impatiently against his parchment, as though to catch his own attention. He flipped back through his notes and couldn’t recall anything he’d written. It just wouldn’t stick in his brain. He dropped his head to the table and groaned in misery.

He spent hours fighting his homework, struggling to focus, occasionally getting up and wandering through the stacks in the hopes that a change of scenery would help. Around noon he made a brief pass through the Great Hall for lunch, noting the absence of the Slytherin team at their table. He stuffed some extra snacks into his pockets and headed back to the library.

The afternoon crawled more slowly than the morning. Harry made gradual progress, hammering botanical names into his brain through brute force of repetition. He would ace the next test or die trying. When he finally reached the end of the assigned chapter he slammed the heavy book shut and tossed his quill across the table. He leaned back in his chair and stretched, then rolled his neck to loosen the stiff muscles there. He shrunk his book and jammed it into his pocket, then headed to the Gryffindor tower. The day was dragging on brutally.

He found Neville and Seamus in the common room, practicing transfiguration by changing small objects into butterflies and back. As Harry entered he noticed several curious white splatters on the floor around the room. Neville followed his gaze.

“We tried doves first,” he explained, “but they shat a lot.”

“That’s horrid,” Harry frowned. “You’re not going to leave the common room full of bird waste, are you?”

“Well,” Seamus looked accusingly at Neville, “I guess not.”

“You were going to leave it, weren’t you?” Harry shook his head disapprovingly. He dug out his wand and cast Scourgify to remove the stains.

“Cheers,” Neville smiled and nodded. “Appreciate the help.”

“Is anyone else hungry?” Seamus rubbed his stomach and checked the time.

“For bird shite?” Harry made a gagging face.

“It’s dinner time, come on,” Seamus flicked his wand and the butterflies transfigured back into knickknacks, which crashed to the floor at once. Cursing at his own lack of foresight, he cast Reparo and then returned the objects to their appropriate shelves.

“Sundays are just made for this kind of trouble,” Harry shook his head. “I’m surprised I didn’t find you in here transfiguring the sofa into a dragon just for fun.”

“That would be brilliant,” Seamus and Neville exchanged an intrigued look. “Scare the first-years.”

Harry put an end to that thought process by hustling his friends out of the room and down to dinner. They talked pro quidditch as they ate, wondering whether Britain’s national team could beat Romania this year. The Slytherin table was sparsely populated, which meant practice was still on. Would Draco be out all night? Harry wondered fearfully.

After dinner the three Gryffindor eighth-years made their way back to their house. Harry’s nerves were on edge. The sun was nearly down and he hadn’t heard from Draco yet. What if he didn’t make it back tonight? His heart caught in his throat as he had another horrible thought: What if Malfoy had regrets and was avoiding him now?

He chastised himself for having such a terrible thought. Draco felt about Harry the way Harry felt about Draco. He was positive. He was anxious. He excused himself and retreated to his private room to brood and wait the evening out.

Sure enough, no sooner had he closed his bedroom door than a green spark flared to life in front of him. It took a moment for to register that it was different from the usual spark. It was bigger, for one, and it fizzed like a firework, hovering in mid air. No matter, it only meant one thing: Draco wanted to meet. He couldn’t keep the silly grin from washing over his face.

He stepped towards the door and the spark zipped over to hover in front of him. He frowned and stepped back. The spark followed his movement. This was definitely different from the usual beacon charm. He waved his hand, but it passed right through it, not dissipating or budging. He jumped and ducked, and the spark followed his every move. Strange.

He retrieved his wand from its holster and pointed, wondering which spell might counteract such a persistent little beacon. But as he held his wand aloft the spark zipped towards him and attached itself to the end. He stepped back in surprise but his wand pulled forward. He yanked his arm down but the spark tugged it back up. Back and forth, it was playing tug-of-war.

It dawned on him what was happening. The spark was trying to tell him where to go. Brilliant! He gave in and let the flashing green speck lead him out of the room. He clattered down the stairs, trying to keep up with the pull. It dragged him through the common room and out through the Fat Lady painting. He had to fight a bit to retain control as the spark impatiently tugged, unconcerned about the location of the moving stairs. He carefully navigated down until he reached the bottom. The spark dragged him through corridor after corridor, and he was so absorbed in not tripping over obstacles or smacking into closed doors that it took him several minutes to realize where it was taking him. It was pulling insistently towards the hospital wing.

Harry dug his heels in, refusing to go further. It suddenly occurred to him that this beacon differed from Draco’s usual spell. What if he hadn’t sent it? What if something had happened to him? Panic rose in his throat. What if Slytherin’s all-day practice had fatigued him to the point of fatal error?

The spark flashed impatiently and tugged again. Harry reluctantly stepped forward, his heart pounding. He couldn’t lose Draco now. Not now, when they’d only just discovered each other. It wouldn’t be fair. He reached the door to the infirmary and steeled himself. He pushed the heavy wood panels aside and stepped in, bracing himself for the worst.

The long room was mostly empty, just two rows of neatly made beds with a chest of drawers next to each. The room was familiar, Harry had visited enough times during his seven previous years. The bed at the far end of the room was occupied, a bandaged figure lay motionless beneath the sheet. Harry’s heart squeezed. Something had happened after all!

The green spark fizzled out, having brought him to the correct destination. He darted down the aisle between the beds, eyes fixed on the lone figure. He dashed around the foot of the bed and knelt near the occupant’s bandaged head.

“Draco?” he whispered shakily. “What happened?”

“What are you doing? I’m right here,” a voice spoke from the doorway beyond the patient beds.

Harry leapt to his feet and whirled around. Clearly uninjured, the blond Slytherin eyed him warily. Harry was so relieved that he couldn’t speak. He darted over to Draco and threw his arms around him, relief crashing down on him like a deluge.

“I thought you were injured,” Harry said into his shoulder when he could speak. “The spark was different.”

“Oh that,” Draco curled his arms around Harry. “Just a bit of an improvement so you’d know where to go.”

“It’s brilliant.”

Draco released Harry and held him at arm’s length. He was unshowered, and the day’s sweat had dried on his skin. He smelled marvelous, Harry thought. His groin reminded him that it hadn’t had any attention all day.

“Pomfrey called me down as we were wrapping up practice,” Draco explained as he moved to a supply cabinet and went back to straightening up its contents. “The girl in the bed is a fourth-year. She went to the Forbidden Forest and something got her. Not sure what. Hagrid brought her in earlier today.”

“Why is she all bandaged up?” Harry was a little embarrassed that he had whispered Draco’s name to a fourth-year girl.

“She swelled up,” Draco explained.”The bandages are applying pressure.”

“Will she be okay?”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Draco shook his head, the vertical groove between his eyebrows betraying his concern.

“So you’re staying here tonight?” Harry tried to maintain perspective. This girl was fighting for her life, he shouldn’t be disappointed about his sexual prospects.

“Pomfrey needed a break for a few hours of sleep,” Draco shot Harry a glance that acknowledged his effort to be understanding. “She asked me to keep a watch on the girl tonight. Make sure she doesn't worsen or transform.”

“What on earth would she transform into?”

“Not sure, seeing as we don’t know what got her.” Draco approached the bed and knelt down to check her pulse. His touch was gentle, his regard for her well-being surprisingly professional, for someone who had only been apprenticing for two and a half months. “Could be plant, could be animal, could be magical.”

“So you’re staying here?” Harry repeated dumbly.

“That’s right,” Draco stood and was visibly fatigued. He must have come straight from the quidditch pitch, after hours of flying. “I thought maybe you could stay with me.”

“Of course,” Harry smiled finally. “Have you eaten?”

“We were just finishing supper when she sent for me.” Darkness flickered across his eyes for just an instant, “Zabini paid for catering from Hogsmeade.” He rubbed his face and sighed with exhaustion. He had dark circles under his eyes and his hair hung limply across his forehead.

“Is it okay to lie down or do you need to stay by her bed?” Harry gestured to the long line of neatly starched cots.

“I think it’s okay to sleep, as long as we can hear her,” Draco dragged himself halfway down the room and slumped onto one of the beds. Harry rolled him onto his side, slipped in behind him, and tucked his knees behind his thighs. He slipped his arm around Draco’s waist and held him as closely as he could. All of the tension and anxiety from earlier in the day melted as he spooned the other boy. Draco gently stroked the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb, his breath even and slow. It took mere seconds for him to fall asleep. Harry tried not to be disappointed that he didn’t even get a kiss goodnight.

The girl in the bed awoke at sunrise, her soft groans rousing the pair on the other bed. Harry fought consciousness, desperately trying to stay asleep. Draco roused immediately, deftly removing Harry’s arm and crossing to the injured girl with the posture of someone fully alert. Harry blinked blearily and wondered how he did it.

Draco lowered his head and spoke closely to the girl’s ear. He explained where she had been found and asked her what she remembered. Harry couldn’t make out her response, it sounded mostly like whimpering and moaning. Draco carefully unwrapped one of her hands and studied it closely. She didn’t appear to be swelling anymore. Her skin was streaked with angry red welts, and she was clearly in physical distress.

“Stay with her, I need to fetch Madam Pomfrey,” Draco rushed past Harry and exited the hospital ward. Moments later he reappeared with the nurse in tow, both focused and business-like, not at all disoriented and sleepy like Harry.

Pomfrey inspected the girl, then summoned Draco to help her rifle through the potions cabinet. They spoke in low, terse tones and moved quickly and efficiently. Harry felt out of place, huddled sleepily on one of the beds, no use to anyone at all. He watched Draco with admiration as the blond boy took instruction from the elderly nurse without the signature sneer, protest or whinge that marked his younger years. He listened carefully and responded with nimble fingers. He measured out the contents of several bottles and jars while Pomfrey carefully brewed a concoction.

Finally the nurse thanked Draco and carried her cauldron over to the sick student’s bedside table. She carefully slathered the mixture all over the girl’s skin, gently massaging it over the angry, red welts. Draco watched until Pomfrey dismissed him with a curt thank you and a wave of her hand.

“Let’s go,” Draco muttered as he made haste and exited the infirmary. Harry jumped up to follow him. Out in the hall Draco’s brow furrowed. He seemed deep in thought.

“So what was it?” Harry asked.

“She said she found some currants and ate them.” Draco said distractedly. “Not sure yet what they really were.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Maybe,” Draco’s mind was elsewhere. He looked up suddenly, “She’s going to ask me why you were there.”

“Tell her I was keeping you company.” Harry suggested.

“She’s going to notice only one bed was disturbed.”

“Tell her you slept in a chair.”

Draco didn’t respond, lost in thought. He finally looked into Harry’s eyes. “I guess I’ll just see what she says. Maybe she’ll figure it out and be fine with it.”

“And if she’s not?”

“I’ll deny it,” Draco said simply.

Suddenly he smiled broadly at Harry, like he was noticing him for the first time. He raised his hands and cupped Harry’s face, drawing it to his lips. He kissed Harry gently, fingers running through his perpetually messy dark hair. Harry responded in kind, slipping his hands around Draco’s waist and pulling him closer. Minutes ticked by as they kissed softly, too tired for urgency. Finally they broke off and looked into each others’ eyes.

“Hi,” Draco said as though they were just meeting up. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Harry smiled in relief. Just then the clock tower chimed, signaling the start of breakfast.

“Salazar,” Draco swore. “I guess we need to head back and get ready for class.”

“I guess so,” Harry was miserable, too. They just couldn’t find the right time or place to be together.

They hustled back to their respective houses for showers and a change of clothing. They spotted each other in the Great Hall but didn’t speak. They rushed to their first class but didn’t sit together in order to avoid suspicion. On the way to second period Ron talked Harry’s ear off about London. After third period Hermione took a turn at talking his ear off. During lunch they peppered him with questions about his trip to the Malfoy family cemetery, clearly expecting a juicy story about wealth and decadence. He was short on detail, considering how much of the day had involved touching and loving rather than mocking or jeering.

After fourth period Harry had to return to the Potions classroom for more apprenticeship, where Professor Slughorn berated him for not doing any work over the weekend. For punishment he was ordered to organize the toxins cabinet from most deadly to least deadly. And there were a lot of toxins. Slughorn left him with an oversized reference book and a parchment and quill to take notes as he researched the toxicity of each jarred item and ranked them accordingly. Harry missed dinner and still didn’t finish until the clock tower chimed lights out for the underclassmen.

When he was finally finished, Slughorn appeared as though he had been monitoring his protégé’s progress, and graded Harry’s results with a scornful eye. He made a few corrections, but finally declared the job well done and sent the boy on his way.

Harry dragged himself back to Gryffindor house, desperately in need of a decontamination shower. Draco was nonchalantly reading in an alcove at the base of the tower, but it was easy to see that Harry was in no condition for conversation. They bid each other a reluctant goodnight.

On Tuesday Professor Sprout announced that she would be issuing an end of semester Herbology examination in two weeks and that there would be a practice exam at their next class. She passed around a thick stack of parchment to each student and recommended intense studying, starting immediately. Harry’s stomach felt like lead. Any advance warning about the difficulty of an approaching test should be taken seriously. Hermione ambushed him as soon as class was over and dragged him to the library for power-studying. He caught Draco Malfoy’s eye as he was led away, regret suffusing his body from head to toe.

And so went the rest of the week, always something preventing the two boys from stealing more than a moment here or there for a touch, a kiss, or an embrace. They simply couldn’t catch a break. Every night Harry comforted himself with the memory of their first night together and a serviceable wank. But his body ached to be touched again. He thought about slim, pale fingers tracing up his arms, grasping his arse, pulling his hair. He wished he had at least stolen one of Draco’s shirts so he could smell his deep, masculine scent while he tugged quickly towards climax. And while wanking was nicer now that he head real memories to rely on, each orgasm was quickly followed by the wistful yearning for real contact. He despaired that he would never hold Draco Malfoy’s supple body against his own again.


	4. Chapter 4

Before they knew it, it was Saturday, one week since the dam had broken between Malfoy and Potter. It was also the day of the big quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. The Slytherin team was fired up, having spent more consecutive hours in practice during the previous week than any other time.

Blaise had insisted upon the fifth-year girl’s inclusion in seeker exercises. Greenwald had agreed, clearly fixated on the goal of finally beating Potter to the snitch. Draco would have no part of it, refusing to offer the girl training or tips, and occasionally fouling her under the guise of teaching her what to watch out for. Zabini and Greenwald might have ideas about replacing him as their seeker, but he’d see to it that no one would agree with their vision.

He was tense as the team walked down from the castle to the pitch. He would have to separate the part of him that played to win from the part of him that couldn’t stop fantasizing about shagging Harry Potter until he came in bucketloads. He couldn’t be distracted by his urges, he had to stay focused on the golden snitch without any personal feelings getting in the way. He hoped Harry was competitive enough to feel the same way. And then after the game they could shag until they both came in bucketloads.

The rest of the team gave him space in the changing room as he donned his uniform. He was focused, intense, and trying to psych himself up for the match. If ever he needed to win the snitch, this was the game. If he could catch the snitch, Zabini would have no leverage over him. He would be a Slytherin legend, the one who broke Harry Potter’s winning streak.

He hefted his broom and settled his goggles over his eyes. He would divorce himself from his emotions. He would play a clean game, that much he would commit to. But he would show no mercy. He would get his hands on the snitch this time.

The team filed out of the dressing room and greeted the Gryffindor team on the field. Draco met Harry’s eyes and hoped Harry could see that this was no place for affections to get in the way. Potter, he corrected himself, finding refuge from intimacy in his last name. Potter stared back, his eyes similarly determined and his mouth set in a tense line. Good, his game face was on, too.

The teams took to the skies and the match began. The snitch disappeared immediately and Draco started scanning for glints of gold. Below him the teams grappled for the quaffle, trying to put it through each others’ hoops. The Weasel was back in form, protecting his team’s goals with better coordination than he’d shown over the last two games. They must have had him practicing night and day in anticipation of this match.

The crowd in the stands was in high spirits. Many of the students’ parents were in attendance, flying red and gold or green and silver banners. Everyone had chosen a side. Draco circled the perimeter of the field, his eyes scanning. Still no sign of the snitch.

This part of the game could be laborious. While the chasers, beaters and keepers were constantly in motion, the seekers had to wait until that sodding golden ball decided to show itself. A wild bludger zoomed past Draco’s foot, nearly knocking him aside. He tucked himself in more aerodynamically and continued his patrol. The score crept up gradually as each team scored, and it was a close one. The teams were well matched. The crowd went wild with every shot. Time ticked by as the snitch operated on its own schedule. Draco did as he always did, cursing under his breath in a long stream of profanity as he waited for its appearance.

There! A flash of gold near the highest Slytherin banner caught his eye. He leaned forward and sped towards it as fast as he could, not bothering to wonder whether Potter had seen it, too. Better to assume he had and put every ounce of energy into the pursuit. The snitch dodged, as it was wont to do, He careened after it, diving towards the ground at top speed. He caught sight of Potter closing in, streaking in at an unbelievable speed towards the tiny ball. Draco leaned even further into the dive, tossing all concerns for his safety aside. Bones could be mended, the snitch could only be caught once.

As though it read his thoughts, the snitch changed directions, shooting straight up into the sky. Draco hauled up on his broomstick and cut a right-angled turn, blasting upwards with enough force that he almost expected to hear the wood crack. Harry was right behind him. The operative word, Draco thought, was behind. He’d turned sooner, his reflexes had been faster. His confidence bolstered, he put on another burst of speed and focused his eyes on the receding golden ball. How was it possible that brooms got faster with every model, but the snitch could still outrun them?

The ball plunged into the clouds and Draco plunged in after it. He couldn’t see, but his gut told him to stay the course and keep heading up. A half a breath later he burst out through the other side of the cloud into clear skies. He was so startled by the sudden daylight that he almost missed the flash of gold. The snitch had levelled off and was getting away.

Potter burst from the clouds at an angle, having changed course slightly rather than ascending directly. Unfortunately he’d emerged in the opposite direction from the snitch’s new course and Draco now had a significant lead. He heard Potter curse vehemently as he brought his broom around and put his entire weight into accelerating. The snitch changed course again, plunging back down into the cloud cover at top speed. Draco didn’t hesitate for thought, he plunged after it.

Once again he burst through the other side and found himself within just a few broom-lengths of the golden ball. They were plummeting towards the ground so fast that Draco imagined himself plowing all the way to China. He edged up on the stick and stretched his arm out, reaching as far as he could for the ball. The wind roared in his ears, but a shift in the air told him Potter was closing in. It was now or never.

He kicked hard and squeezed another burst of speed out of his broom, surging forward just enough. He swiped out and closed his fingers in an iron grip, and it hit him with dizzying reality that he’d done it. He’d caught the snitch. He heard Potter bellow a blasphemous profanity behind him as he drew the ball in and secured his grip on his broom handle.

The ground was approaching with dangerous speed. Draco hauled back on the stick and leaned back, trying to slow his descent and increase his chance of surviving impact. He hauled with all of his might, trying to pull out of the dive. He pulled and pulled as the field drew nearer and he heard the spectators gasp. Crying out from the strain he hauled as hard as he could, slowing bit by bit, his angle of approach getting shallower by degrees.

The stick creaked as he pulled with all of his weight. It squeaked and groaned and he could feel it bend beyond its tolerance. Suddenly it snapped, splintering and shattering, and Draco, unprepared for the sudden release, was thrown free. He sailed through the air and instinctively curled his arms around his head. He remembered his training and tucked his limbs in as the ground came up to meet him. He hit hard, but he tucked and rolled and kept his head protected. He tumbled like a stone across the pitch until his momentum was finally spent and he flopped to a stop like a flung ragdoll.

The crowd in the stands went silent for a beat. He heard the pound of feet as healers ran to his side, first aid spells half-uttered before they had even assessed his injuries. He could tell his legs were broken. His left wrist might have broken, too. But the important thing was that his right arm was fine, and his hand still held the snitch. His thrill over that realization kept the pain at bay.

A smile broke over his face as the first school staff arrived. His hand shot straight up into the air, holding the golden snitch for all to see. The crowd hushed again.

“He has the snitch!” a nearby voice shouted.

“Slytherin has the snitch!” another voice called. The announcer picked up the call from there and the spectators exploded in a frenzy of celebration.

Draco’s bones were mended with a few specialized spells, and a few minutes later he was helped to his feet by several pairs of hands. His team rushed him and lifted him up, then carried him around the field in celebration. The Slytherin supporters thundered down the stairs from the stands and rushed the field. Draco was jostled around, hugged and lifted and passed from reveler to reveler. His back was pounded and his arm was pumped as well wishers congratulated him on a stupendous win. It was brilliant.

Eventually the throng thinned as celebrants made their way down to the lake for their victory party. Draco’s teammates headed for the showers in high spirits. He was detained on the field until the last supporter shook his hand and finally released him to the changing room.

He looked around the now-vacant field. Undoubtedly the Gryffindor team and fans had departed long ago. He had hoped Harry would hang back, but knew it wasn’t likely. He hoped Potter wasn’t angry over losing. He was a little worried.

He entered the dressing room to cheers. His team was ecstatic over their victory and they knew he’d injured himself to secure the win. He was a hero. Zabini was nowhere to be seen, of course, having no business in the changing room. He knew Blaise would be down at the lake, probably looking for an opportunity to regain the advantage. But he would have a hard time finding a receptive audience if he tried to criticize Draco Malfoy tonight.

He sat on the long bench and hung his head in his hands, feeling his exhausted muscles throb from the exertion of the high-speed chase. He slowly stripped off his gear as the other players stowed their uniforms and departed for the post-game party. He sat for another minute in just his leather trousers, his ears ringing in the sudden silence. He stood and shucked his pants, then dragged his towel to the shower area for a much deserved soak.

He turned on the water as hot as it would go and stood under the scalding spray. The steam rose around him as he hung his head, letting the water course down his scalp and neck and back. He lathered at his own pace, scrubbing sweat and dirt and grass stains away. He peeled back the adhesive bandage that covered his Death Eater tattoo and carefully washed around the design. The blisters had receded and the most affected areas had scabbed a bit. He could see progress now. The tattoo was uneven, with faded spots riddled throughout. Parts of the thin lines that formed the snake were disappearing already, and the dark parts of the skull were looking moth-eaten and worn. He was gaining confidence that the removal process would eventually yield success.

He turned around and let the water spray his back, tipping his head up to let it pour through his hair. He closed his eyes and rivulets of water ran down his face and dripped down his neck to his chest and below.

He heard the changing room door open and close. He craned his neck to see who had come back. He could see no one.

“Hello?” he called. No one answered. “Who’s there?”

A flicker of movement, and then a red and gold jersey sailed through the air and landed in the water that pooled at his feet. He looked up and scanned the room again. In the doorway a silver shimmer shifted and fell, revealing a very naked Harry Potter.

“You’re a git,” Draco grinned, kicking the jersey out of the path of the shower spray.

Harry did not answer. He did not smile. He glowered at Draco, his green eyes dark and flashing.

“Are you cross?” Draco asked, confused by the contrast between the Gryffindor boy’s dark expression and his unabashed nudity.

Harry stepped forward, jaw set and eyes shadowed. He moved straight into the shower spray and backed Draco up against the tile wall. He paused with their noses nearly touching and stared. The water speckled Harry's glasses, making his expression hard to read. Draco didn’t know what to do. Harry reached up and thrust his fingers into Draco’s wet blond locks and pulled him to his mouth. He kissed Draco roughly, hands raking through his hair and holding him in an iron grip.

Draco’s shock only lasted a moment. He felt a flush of heat as blood flooded to his head. He seized Potter around the waist and pulled him in tight. Harry’s tongue was insistent, his hands were determined, his breath was ragged and hot. He broke the kiss abruptly and huffed for air, his forehead pressed against Draco’s. Hot water pelted down around them like a waterfall and clouds of steam billowed through the small space.

“I want you to shag me,” Harry growled, clutching two handfuls of blond hair.

Draco’s knob responded before he could. He swallowed hard and couldn’t find his voice.

“You promised me a proper shag,” Harry reminded him. “I want to do it, right here, right now.”

Draco nodded dumbly.

It was enough agreement for Harry. He yanked Draco down to his mouth as though trying to devour him. Draco’s head swam and his heart felt like it was skipping beats.

“The door,” Draco mumbled around Harry’s tongue.

“Locked and warded,” Harry said shortly, diving in for another deep kiss.

Relieved, Draco slid his hands up and down Harry’s drenched back and cupped his arse. Harry’s hand found its way to Draco’s member, where it grasped and stroked hungrily. Draco hoisted Harry’s right leg up and wrapped it around his waist. He played his fingers down Harry’s back, around his arse, down his leg, and back up again. They kissed ravenously, grinding their hips together and rubbing against each other.

Draco ran one finger down Harry’s crease and across his furrowed opening. The other boy drew a surprised breath, then pushed harder against Draco’s mouth. His other hand moved up to Harry’s face, where he cupped the other boy’s jaw and pushed him back. He stared intensely into Harry’s dazed eyes, noting with pleasure the slack-jawed expression as he pushed. He nodded reassuringly to let the brunette know it would be okay.

Harry whimpered, his body tensing up against the unfamiliar invasion. His eyes rolled up in his head as the sensation grew on him. He allowed Draco to push deeper, gasping as his body twinged with pleasure.

Suddenly Draco released him and turned Harry to face the shower wall. He stepped up close behind him and wrapped one arm around his waist. He tucked his chin over Harry’s shoulder and sucked his earlobe between his lips. Harry groaned with pleasure as Draco grasped him again. Harry was incoherent, his mouth trying to form words as his brain misfired. His hands were splayed across the tiles, water rushing down his back and coursing through his hair. He pressed back, returning Draco’s pressure as though asking for more.

Draco needed no further invitation. He quickly positioned himself and pushed into Harry with an insatiable need. Harry threw his head back and cried out, momentarily resisting the sensation. Draco squeezed and pulled him in closer, and slid his other hand up to Harry’s shoulder. He moved slowly at first, and then faster as Harry’s resistance melted away.

The two boys moved together, pressing and pulling, pushing and grinding. Draco desperately tried to stay on top of the wave of pleasure coursing through his body. He wanted Harry to climax first. Harry was moaning, whimpering, gasping, pressure building in him like a volcano. Draco could feel him pulsating as the tremendous orgasm built to a thunderous peak.

Finally the volcano ignited. Harry shouted, his voice climbing hoarsely as he did. He clenched and bore down, both inviting and resisting the overwhelming sensation. Draco couldn’t stop. He worked furiously and felt his own orgasm hit like a bolt of lightning. He gasped for breath and tipped his head back, letting the water pour down over his face and neck.

Finally as the convulsions subsided he slipped himself free and wrapped both arms tightly around Harry’s chest. They both heaved for air as the hot water washed away all traces of sex. Harry slowly turned around and leaned into Draco, arms wrapped around him and curling up to grasp his shoulders. He laughed once, then again, and suddenly both boys were laughing and holding each other and stroking each other’s wet hair. Harry lifted his head, the darkness gone from his eyes. He grinned in his goofy lopsided way and held up one of his hands, showing wrinkled fingertips.

“I think we’re turning into prunes,” he laughed.

Draco laughed too, and bumped heads affectionately with the other boy. They kissed a few more times, grinning in between and laughing at nothing in particular. They were giddy with the feeling that they’d done something amazing and intimate and private and forbidden that no one else would ever understand.

Harry cranked the tap and shut off the water. The sudden quiet made them both a bit bashful. They retrieved their towels and dried off, and Draco quickly dressed in his pregame clothes. Harry sat on the bench with his towel around his waist, having forgotten to bring his street clothes with him from the Gryffindor changing room.

“So were you cross with me?” Draco asked as he tugged a gray cashmere sweater over his head.

“A bit,” Potter said honestly. “I was cross with myself for losing, and cross with you for winning.”

“It was an amazing win, though, wasn’t it?” Draco sat and pulled on his socks. He squinted up at the Gryffindor boy, hoping for a glint of recognition for his skill.

“It was an amazing win,” Harry conceded with a smile. “I wasn’t really cross with you, you know? It was the competitive thing. I don’t like losing.” He looked down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. “I was pretty bothered when I got back to the changing room. Everyone was devastated, of course. I just sat there holding my broom, wondering what I could have done differently to get there faster. I kept running it over in my head.”

“What do you think you could have done differently?” Draco asked softly.

“Nothing,” Harry looked up, his eyes serious. “I did everything I could. You were faster. You played a better game.”

“And that got you hot and bothered?” Draco smirked.

“Sort of,” Harry grinned, too. “I just suddenly wanted you so badly. I couldn’t wait.”

“Well let’s not wait for the next match to do that again,” Draco slipped his arm around Potter’s shoulders and pulled him close. They kissed, long and deep, their hands gentle now that the urgency had passed.

“I should get back,” Harry murmured. He stood and retrieved his discarded invisibility cloak. “You’re needed down at the lake.”

“They’re probably wondering what’s taking so long,” Draco said reluctantly.

“Any plans tomorrow?”

“I promised to do some morning hours with Promfrey,” Draco remembered. “But the rest of the day is yours, if you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have you,” Harry grinned and ducked his head, then tossed the invisibility cloak around himself. He disappeared in a silvery shimmer, and a moment later the changing room door opened and closed.

Draco sat for a moment, eyes closed, and replayed the day in his mind. Perfection, he thought. It was perfection.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry couldn’t stop smiling. Hermione noticed first, then Ron and Seamus. They eyed him suspiciously over breakfast and tried to uncover the source of his inexplicable happiness. They’d lost to Slytherin the day before, by all accounts Harry Potter should be miserable.

But he couldn’t even fake misery, not in a believable way. He finally told his friends that while he was upset about the loss, there was a part of him that had enjoyed the competition more. He promised he wasn’t looking forward to another defeat and that he’d be sure to be on point for the next match. That seemed to placate them, at least temporarily.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hermione called as they exited the Great Hall after breakfast. Harry paused and wondered if it was a trick question.

“We have to study,” Hermione said sternly. “The Herbology practice exam is tomorrow and we’re not ready.”

“You’re ready,” Ron corrected her.

“You and Harry are not,” she didn’t deny her expertise in the subject. “Madam Pince is expecting me in the library for apprenticeship. Get your books and meet me in there so we can cram.” She flipped her hair and pranced off.

Ron rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Might as well do it. She’s going to stay on us until we do.”

Ron and Harry headed upstairs to find their books, and then back downstairs to the library. They didn’t speak much, and the silence felt a little awkward. So much had changed, although Ron wasn’t clued into all of the changes, Harry thought. They just weren’t as close as they used to be. Their apprenticeships kept them busy, and when Ron wasn’t busy getting drooled and chewed on by Hagrid’s band of wild beasts, he was snogging with his girlfriend. They didn’t have time for each other anymore, and not much to talk about.

“How was London?” Harry asked politely. It was a silly question, they visited London regularly enough that there wouldn’t be much of anything to share.

“We went to the ballet,” Ron’s voice was mopey, describing in full his level of enjoyment of the event.

“How’d you get talked into that?”

“Hermione’s always wanted to see the Nutcracker. It’s always playing this time of year so we figured we might as well go,” Ron replied.

“Hard to believe it’s almost Christmas already,” Harry realized Draco’s next laser tattoo removal session was only two weeks away.

“Mum’s already got our sweaters ready,” Ron said teasingly, knowing Harry already had a collection of custom Weasley masterpieces in his closet. “And I have a sneaking suspicion that she’s making a matching pair for me and Hermione.”

“Well that will be sweet, won’t it?” Harry said with a straight face.

“She’s completely mental,” Ron shook his head. “You’re coming to Christmas dinner this year, right?”

“Of course,” Harry said quickly. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without the Weasleys.”

“Mum keeps asking me to ask you but I keep forgetting,” Ron said. “She’s afraid you won’t want to come because of Ginny.”

“Oh,” Harry hadn’t thought of that. “Is Ginny okay with me being there?”

“Probably not,” Ron admitted. “But I think she’s seeing a sixth-year boy now, and I’m sure she’d love to wave him under your nose.”

Harry groaned. It was going to be more complicated this year. He wished he’d thought of that.

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Ron slapped Harry’s back. “Just tell her new boy that he’s a lucky fellow and everything will be fine.” They clattered down a set of stairs and passed a long row of armor. “Imagine how Ginny would react if you brought a date,” Ron added.

Harry did not want to imagine that.

“You can bring someone, you know,” Ron continued.

Harry declined vaguely.

“Is there anyone you’d want to bring?” Ron was as subtle as a Cruciatus Curse.

“Nah,” Harry shrugged.

“There’s nobody you’ve been spending time with?” It was a loaded question and they both knew it.

“Just hanging out with the guys these days,” Harry looked casually out of the windows as they made their way down a long corridor. “I beat Neville three times in a row at chess the other night.”

“Longbottom is shite at chess,” Ron said with disgust. They walked in silence for a moment. “So no girls you’ve got your eye on?”

“Not right now,” Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. “I just kind of want to get through to graduation.”

“Not even a hook-up?” Ron’s voice squeaked.

“I don’t know,” Harry wanted to change the subject but couldn’t figure out how.

“You’ve at least got to have a shag before graduation,” Ron insisted. “You should do a double date with me and Hermione. I’m sure she can think of someone.”

“That’s okay,” Harry shouldered his way through the double doors into the library.

“Hey Hermione,” Ron called across the open space. Several students looked up and shushed him angrily. Hermione rushed over looking cross.

“Keep your voice down,” she ordered.

“Who’s that sixth-year Hufflepuff girl you’ve been tutoring?” Ron lowered his voice only nominally.

“Shila,” Hermione slapped him in the arm and gave him a stern look.

“Shila yeah,” Ron finally dropped to a whisper. “You think she’d go with Harry?”

“Ron,” Harry shook his head urgently. “Hermione, don’t.”

“I don’t know, I could ask her,” Hermione looked thoughtful.

“Honestly, no,” Harry grasped one of her arms to get her attention. “I’m not looking for someone right now,” Harry couldn’t keep the begging tone out of his voice.

“Okay,” Hermione’s expression changed. He couldn’t read what she was thinking, but she dropped the subject without any more protest. She looked at him for another moment, then smiled and squeezed his hand. He was distinctly uncomfortable.

Ron didn’t drop it so easily. He chose a table near the stacks Hermione was currently reshelving and prattled on about girls in different houses who might be willing to let Harry sample their wares, as it were. Finally Hermione seized his face in her hands and declared enough. Ron reluctantly dropped the subject.

When Madam Pince was occupied elsewhere, Hermione sat at their table and helped them to organize their Herbology notes. When Madam Pince returned to the stacks Hermione jumped up and went back to work. They studied on their own, then with Hermione’s help, then on their own, and again with her help. Finally she came to the end of her duties and settled down next to Ron with an eager grin on her face.

“She loves this stuff,” Ron groaned, knowing they now had her undivided attention.

“I just need to get past this practice exam,” Harry was equally miserable.

“No, you need to understand the concepts so you can pass any of the exams,” Hermione pulled out a sheet of parchment and started listing botany prefixes.

The door to the library swung open and the quiet chatter of students halted. A pitter-pat of quiet applause spread through the room as Draco Malfoy, quidditch hero, entered. He paused, his eyebrows raised in surprise, then he affected a regal posture and nodded graciously in acknowledgement of the admiration. The applause died down and he shook his head in wonder.

“Malfoy!” Harry waved him over with a loud whisper.

“What are you doing?” Ron hissed. “Don’t invite him over.”

“Why not?” Harry snapped.

“Because he’s Mal--” Ron cut himself off as Draco arrived within earshot.

“Hello, Potter,” Draco dropped his books unceremoniously onto the table and sank gracefully into the chair next to Harry. He eyed Ron distastefully. “Hello, Weasel.”

“Sod off, ferret face,” Ron’s eyes narrowed angrily.

“Granger,” Draco nodded coolly in Hermione’s direction.

“Malfoy,” she nodded in return.

“Herbology, I see,” Draco pulled his textbook over in front of him and flipped to the current chapter.

“What are we doing here?” Ron demanded. “Are we study buddies?”

“Don’t be a wanker, Ron,” Harry sighed. “He hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Are you mad?” Ron’s voice cracked. “Seven years of torture, and everything during the war?”

“The war is over,” Harry said firmly. “It’s time to move on.”

“Ron, please,” Hermione laid a hand on her boyfriend’s arm and looked up at him pleadingly. He reluctantly dropped the subject, and for once Harry was grateful for his obedience.

“What happened to your arms,” Hermione asked Draco. Harry belatedly noticed the long, thin scratches that travelled up his hands and forearms beneath the sleeves of his robe.

“Wolf,” Draco pulled back his sleeves and showed the extent of the scratches. They were healing up rapidly, obviously magic had been applied. “Did you know Hogwarts is home to a third-year werewolf?”

“Really?” Hermione asked, staring at his wounds warily. “You didn’t get bitten, did you?”

“Just scratched,” he shook his head, his eyes darkening. “His bloody parents didn’t tell the school. They’ve been pulling him out when the moon is full. They must have read their calendar wrong this month.” He sat back in his chair. “Pomfrey asked me to watch him last night when he was brought in. His housemates thought he had been cursed.”

“He sort of is,” Ron said flatly, not wanting to talk to Malfoy but not wanting to be left out.

“She sent me away after he scratched me and I called him a puppy fucker,” Malfoy added.

“You called a thirteen-year-old a puppy fucker?” Hermione was horrified. Harry stifled a laugh behind his hand. Ron struggled not to smile in spite of himself.

“Yes, apparently that’s frowned upon in the medical profession,” Draco sniffed, looking peevish.

“You’re awful,” Hermione’s voice oozed disgust.

“That’s hardly news,” Malfoy retorted.

Harry couldn’t help it. He laughed in spite of himself.

“Harry!” Hermione scolded

“I’m sorry!” he tried to squash his smile. “But come on! Puppy fucker!”

“It’s awful,” Hermione folded her arms across her chest and looked at Ron, whose eyes were bugging out with the effort to contain his own laugher. She slugged him in the arm. “Ron!”

“Sorry!” Ron pulled himself together with Herculean strength. He and Harry swallowed their guffaws and managed to recover their serious expressions.

“Is anyone interested in studying?” Hermione was annoyed that no one shared her outrage.

“What happened to your arm there,” Ron ignored her question and pointed across the table at the bandage on Malfoy’s left forearm. “Isn’t that where your Dark Mark is?”

“Ron,” Harry grimaced.

“Yes, Weasel,” Draco was visibly annoyed, for real this time, not for the sake of storytelling. “That is where my Dark Mark is.”

“Can I see it?” Ron leaned forward. “Are you hiding it or what? Are the laser treatments working? Does it look gross?”

“Ron,” Harry added a warning tone to his voice.

“It’s fine,” Draco shot Harry a look he couldn’t quite decipher. If he didn’t know any better he would say Draco was trying to get along with this friends.

“Can you show it?” Ron insisted.

Malfoy thought for a moment, then shrugged and carefully peeled back the adhesive bandage. In spite of herself Hermione tore her eyes away from her studies and eyed the tattoo with Ron. The mark was definitely eroded and fading from sight.

“The doctor said black ink comes up well. The thin lines around the snake will probably be fully gone in a couple more treatments. Maybe a couple more after that for the skull.” Draco held his arm still so the two curious Gryffindors could get a good look.

“It looks rubbish,” Ron wrinkled his nose. “It was always ugly but now it looks like it was done by a mental patient.”

“It was done by a mental patient,” Draco said dryly. Ron flushed and ducked his head.

Hermione stared for a moment longer, then looked up thoughtfully. “Can we come next time?”

“What, to the treatment appointment?” Harry interjected before Draco could respond. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I want to see how it’s done,” she said as though it should have been obvious. “Besides, I never turn down a trip to London.”

Harry looked at Draco, it was up to him. Draco looked at Harry, clearly wondering what Harry would want him to say. Harry shrugged. Draco furrowed his brow.

“What’s all this,” Ron waved his hand at the nonverbal exchange. “Someone decide.”

“I guess you can come,” Draco’s voice wasn’t exactly warm and inviting, but that was fine by Hermione. She smiled broadly and clasped her hands.

“Two Wednesdays from now,” Draco added. “It’s an all-morning trip.”

“We’ll make it work,” Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

Harry was less enthusiastic. He had come to enjoy his and Draco’s outings to the muggle world. It was like a little vacation from the predictability of Hogwarts. He had been hoping to enjoy the morning with Draco in the more open-minded non-magical world of London. With Ron and Hermione there he wouldn’t be able to let his guard down . He found himself disappointed that Malfoy had not chosen that moment to resurrect his old ways and reject them with a sneer.

He just wanted time alone together. Was that too much to ask?

Hermione finally managed to direct their attention to their studies. Draco was reasonably skilled at Herbology so he was able to help her tutoring attempts. Ron and Harry struggled as usual, but eventually Hermione declared them well enough prepared. Harry did have to admit that he felt a little less nervous about the approaching practice exam.

They decided it was time for lunch so they gathered up their books and headed downstairs. Harry hung back and nudged Draco's arm to catch his attention.

"Coming?" Hermione eyed Harry with that strange look again as he paused with his former mortal enemy for a private chat.

"Be along in a minute," Harry reassured her. She shrugged and continued on her way without another word.

"Why did you invite them?" Harry whispered, worried he would be overheard.

"I thought you wanted me to," Draco whispered back.

"No!" Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm doing my best," Draco looked exhausted. "They're not my friends, they're yours. I'm trying to be nice. Which, I might add, is not in my nature, and you know that." He looked pained.

Harry smiled gratefully and brushed his hand across Malfoy's blond hair. "I think it is in your nature," he said. "You just don't want anyone else to think so."

"Hmm," Draco frowned dubiously.

"I just wish we could have some time together. Just us. I'm tired of sneaking around."

"I'm working on it," Draco nodded in agreement. "Maybe next Saturday? I need to go home and see how the exorcism of the house is going. You could come. There's no furniture or walls yet but we could be alone."

"Brilliant," Harry knew his voice sounded relieved. He hoped Draco felt the same way.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco really was working on it. Between studies, practice, apprenticeship, and brief stolen moments with the boy he liked, he visited the seventh floor and spent long hours staring at a wall and thinking.

Just standing there made him nervous. He had practically lived in the Room of Requirement during sixth year, doing terrible things he knew were wrong. He stared at the blank stone and remembered the panic, the knowledge that the Dark Lord would execute his parents if he did not obey. He remembered huddling in there in shock after the Death Eaters had held him down and tattooed his arm with the accursed Dark Mark. He remembered his friend dying.

He hasn't thought much about Vincent Crabbe since he was swallowed up by Fiendfyre, a fate Draco had almost shared. If Potter hadn't set aside their differences and snatched him from the brink, he would have surely perished. But Potter had reached out to him and pulled him to safety when he least deserved it. That gesture, that moment that could have gone so differently, had changed everything for Draco Malfoy.

He'd had to admit to himself that the Boy Who Lived, the boy he hated even though he'd always thought he was kind of good looking, had shown him more compassion and forgiveness than even his own parents. His parents, who had given him to the Dark Lord Voldemort in the hopes of gaining power and immortality, would not have snatched him from the flames. That anyone would was a revelation.

Draco had spent the summer on house arrest, awaiting word from the Ministry of Magic about his fate. Would he be sent away to Azkaban to gradually go insane and possibly even die? And if not, what would the wizarding world outside have in store for a Malfoy?

He was imprisoned in his childhood home, tortured by the horrific events that had so recently taken place there. At first he had roamed the halls, looking into this room and that, memories of anguish and darkness overlaying what used to be comforting and familiar. The manor was stained with death.

Eventually he restricted himself to his personal suite and had the staff bring food and other essentials to the door. He had been holed up for two weeks when word came that he had been cleared of all charges and his parents were among the confirmed dead. He didn't remember much about the rage that followed, but he did remember ordering a house elf to clean up a lot of broken glass.

When he learned that his parents would not be returned for burial until their remains were declared clear of enchantment he had flown into another rage. More clean-up. But after a few days a guilty sense of relief crept in. His life was now his own. No one could use him for leverage or trade, no one could put down his efforts or discourage him from doing anything that wasn't deemed appropriate for his station. He could make his own choices.

Draco felt something he'd never felt before: exhilaration over the possibility of the future. He hadn't dared dream of a future at all, not in a long time. But now, now there were more options than he could count. His head spun with the heady, dizzying sense of freedom.

He spent the rest of the summer in a manic frenzy of sorting, discarding, storing and donating. He wanted Malfoy Manor cleared, right down to the support beams. He would clear out the darkness, exorcise the evil, and rebuild a home that transcended its past.

It was during his meeting with Headmistress McGonagall to discuss the donation of several dark artifacts that he realized any future he envisioned would require him to finish school. In a flash he knew he would return to Hogwarts for his eighth year. The decision was a relief, since it would require him to be away from the manor.

He had approached the King Cross platform with a mix of hope and dread. He was making his own choice to return, a decision to complete his education at a school he'd previously regarded with disdain. He would finish his schooling, take his N.E.W.T. exams, and choose a future that would restore his name. But he knew it wouldn't be easy. He was hated. It would have been easier to transfer to another school, or to hire a private tutor. But he was compelled to come back for reasons that weren't quite clear to him. Perhaps returning to Hogwarts would be like going home. He needed to see it through different eyes, as a changed person whose life had been gifted to him for the very first time.

He had boarded the train, knowing it would be the last time, and he thought of every previous journey. He remembered just a year ago, when he was so angry and so scared and knew no other way to express his anguish than to lash out at those around him. He remembered lashing out at Harry Potter.

He had gone to great lengths to avoid thinking of Harry Potter since the war. Now that he was here, he found himself looking for the boy hero. He was restless, and realized belatedly that Potter may not have decided to return. He was bewildered by the anxious churn in his stomach at that thought.

He had walked the length of the train, convinced no one would want to share a compartment with him. He held his arm awkwardly at his side, as though his Dark Mark could make itself seen through his coat.

And then he saw him. He was sitting with his Gryffindor friends, a familiarly annoying sight that flooded him with relief. Potter, the Weasel and Granger, the trio was concrete, consistent, comforting and familiar, and the sight of them together on the train was like a tether to normalcy.

He realized with jolt that he was staring, and the trio was staring back. He ducked his head and moved on, wishing he could have said something, anything, even a nasty insult, just so it would feel like old times.

Now Draco stood in the seventh floor corridor and stared at the blank wall, thinking about the past, trying to focus his thoughts on what he desired. He desired Harry Potter. He needed a place where they could escape, where they could be together uninterrupted, with no prying eyes or judgement. The Room of Requirement could provide such a space, provided it still existed.

That was his biggest concern at the moment. Did the Fiendfyre blaze destroy the Room of Requirement? Or did it only destroy the Room of Hidden Things? And then there was the question that chilled him to the bones, the question he was afraid to ask because he was afraid of the answer.

Vincent. Would he find his dead friend inside? If the Room of Hidden Things had been destroyed, where had it gone? Was Crabbe lost forever? If he managed to summon the Room of Hidden Things he was certain he would panic and never be able to return.

So he tried to focus on what he desired, but had a hard time not thinking about what he hoped to avoid. And the Room of Requirement would never open if he couldn't keep his mind clear.

He looked down at his unbandaged arm, the mottled Dark Mark looked worn and defeated. He thought about sitting in the doctor's office, Harry's hand on his, protective and comforting and familiar all at once. He thought about the excitement on Harry's face when he had brought the tattoo removal idea to him. All Draco wanted was the chance to lie with him and press his mouth to his neck and taste the salty, soft skin of the Boy Who Lived. He wanted to lose himself in his sparkling green eyes for as long as he wanted to, without worrying that someone might notice.

He closed his eyes and thought about holding Harry close, relaxed and unhurried, unworried about discovery. Just taking him in, from his perpetually messy hair, his perpetually round glasses, his perpetually goofy smile--

The air shifted around Draco and he opened his eyes. The blank wall was no longer blank. He stepped forward, all fears of finding the Room of Hidden Things gone. He knew what he had been thinking of. What lay beyond the door would be exactly what he desired.


	7. Chapter 7

"Have you been waiting long?" Harry rushed down the breezeway, struggling into his coat with his long red and gold Gryffindor scarf threatening to tangle between his feet.

"Watch it, it's icy," Draco grabbed Harry's arm as his shoes lost purchase. Harry clutched at Draco's green and silver scarf and tried to stay upright. Thrown off balance, Draco's arms wheeled and his own feet slipped out from under him. Harry landed on his arse and Draco toppled on top of him. They grappled with their scarves, arms and legs entangled, and tried to stand back up.

"Stop laughing, you git," Draco growled, carefully rising. Harry lay on the frozen stone, enveloped in the fog of his own laughter. With great care he managed to stand and straighten out his disheveled clothing. He knew Draco was trying not to smile, a reluctance he found endearing.

"Are you quite finished?" Draco asked dryly, raising an eyebrow in disapproval.

"Sorry," Harry forced a straight face and grasped Draco's arm. Then there was the squeezing sensation, then the vacuum, then the pop.

They stood before the front steps of Malfoy Manor, surrounded by the soft undulations of snow-covered landscaping. It was quiet, and the rolling hills of the surrounding countryside were placid. Harry inhaled deeply and coughed as his lungs protested the crisp, cold air. Malfoy was looking up at the house thoughtfully,.

“Can we go in?” Harry asked.

“The exorcist asked me to meet her outside,” Malfoy shook her head. “She wants to check me for negative energy before entering the clean house.”

“That’s okay,” Harry bent over and casually scooped up a handful of snow. “We’ll just enjoy ourselves out here for a while." He whipped his arm around and hurled a snowball at Draco's face. Draco turned towards him just as it struck, plastering the side of his head in frozen powder.

"Potter," Draco said in his most haughty, disdainful voice, "You are going to regret that."

"Then I might as well regret this one, too!" Harry lobbed a second snowball at the other boy.

Draco ducked under the projectile and lunged at him, catching him around the waist and tackling him into a mound of snow.

"Hang on, your face is a bit dirty," Draco straddled Harry and rubbed a handful of snow into his face.

Suddenly the air shifted around them and they heard the familiar suck-pop of an Apparation. They looked up and saw a dark figure standing at the edge of the circular driveway. The figure looked around and thrust a wand aggressively in their direction. Harry's head was half buried in snow, but he could feel the tension through Draco's body, which still lay on top of him.

"Blaise Zabini," Draco hissed. He jumped to his feet and in an instant his wand was in his hand and aimed. Harry jumped up and readied his wand, too. If Blaise had any sense he'd realize two to one were hardly winning odds.

"Well well," Blaise smiled devilishly as the three boys stood frozen in standoff. "Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. I knew if I found one of you I'd find the other, too."

"Did you follow me, Zabini?" Draco demanded. "I’ve cursed enemies over less."

Harry almost flinched at the severity in Draco's voice. What had been a whinging, wheedling voice as a child had matured into a controlled and intimidating tone.

"You were so busy wrestling that you didn't even notice my tracking bug." Blaise held out his hand and a tiny, glittering brass insect landed on the edge of his finger. He looked insufferably smug.

“And what business do you have tracking me?” Draco shot back.

“Just following up on a hunch,” Blaise casually stowed his wand, although Harry suspected his blasé attitude was a show. Draco’s wand didn’t waver.

“What hunch?” Harry asked.

“That you’re a couple of poofters,” Blaise said triumphantly.

Harry’s blood ran cold and his stomach quaked.

“You still have no proof,” Draco was unshaken by the accusation.

“Funny you should say that,” Blaise reached inside his jacket and withdrew a clump of red and gold fabric. He shook it out and held it aloft for them to see.

“Bollocks,” Draco spat.

“Imagine my surprise when I found a Gryffindor Seeker’s jersey in the Slytherin showers,” Blaise beamed triumphantly.

Harry was stunned. How could he have forgotten it?

“Didn’t you notice it was missing?” Draco shot him a frustrated glance, then refocused his wand on the other Slytherin boy.

“I thought it was still in the laundry,” Harry’s face felt numb. He wanted to run, to hide from Blaise’s knowing expression. “The next match isn’t until after Christmas so I didn’t really think about it.”

“So you admit that you left it in the Slytherin changing room,” Blaise looked annoyed that they were talking to each other instead of him. “What do you think your teammates will say when I return it to them?”

“They’ll think you stole it,” Harry retorted, forcing down his nerves and trying to follow Draco’s lead.

“I’ll tell them where I found it,” Blaise snapped.

“They’ll still think you stole it.” Harry shrugged. “Especially because I’m going to tell them it’s missing from my locker.”

Draco slowly smiled, his teeth like fangs, “He’s right, you know. Gryffindor will never believe you.”

Blaise cocked his head, “Malfoy, my friend,” he sneered, “I don’t need Gryffindor house to believe me. It’s Slytherin house that counts.”

Draco had no response. Harry could see him calculating carefully. Was this part of what he had mentioned a couple of weeks ago? Was there a power struggle in Slytherin that Blaise Zabini hoped to win?

“Tell me what you want, Blaise,” Draco tried a new tactic.

“There’s nothing you can do for me,” Blaise said as though he thought it was obvious. “All I want is for you to fall and clear the path for me.”

“This is all for popularity?” Harry was outraged. “You would ruin Draco’s life for popularity? How could you do that?”

“You’ve clearly never gotten a taste of power, Potter.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Draco snapped.

“I wonder what the Daily Prophet would have to say about Golden Boy’s preference for Death Eaters?” Zabini seemed gleeful at the prospect. “Wouldn’t it be grand to take both of you down off of your pedestals in one week?”

“Accio!” Harry shouted, flicking his wand. The jersey tore itself from Blaise’s hand and zipped across the open space to Harry. He tossed it to the ground and flicked his wand again, “Confringo!” The jersey burst into flames and crumbled into ash, melting the snow around it in a sodden ring.

Blaise’s face was stunned. Draco took the opportunity and fired off a spell of his own. “Petrificus Totalus!” he called, binding Blaise in a full body bind curse. The other boy went rigid and toppled over backwards in the snow.

“What should we do with him?” Harry walked over and stood near Zabini’s head. The boy’s eyes were terrified.

“We could Obliviate him,” Draco suggested, coming over to stand next to Harry.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Harry shook his head.

“You see, Zabini,” Draco said to his housemate, “Harry’s too soft. He wouldn’t do to you what you would do to him in a heartbeat.” He looked up into Harry’s green eyes and his expression softened. “What I would have done to him in a heartbeat a year ago.” His face drooped, grief-stricken, “Or worse.”

Harry reached out and touched Draco’s cheek. He had long since forgiven him for the misdeeds of the past. It was clear that Draco had some work to do towards forgiving himself. Draco pulled him in close and kissed him, no reluctance or shyness anywhere in his touch. Harry’s heart pounded fearfully.

“Let him take that back to Hogwarts. All he has are stories, and no one will believe him,” Draco looked down at Blaise with fire in his eyes. “Here’s what I’m going to do,” he crouched and spoke quietly to his petrified housemate. “I’m going to release you and you’re going to Disapparate. You will never return here, because I will be warding the property against you. You will be disinvited from every future Malfoy event, and you won’t even be able to gate crash. Explain that as you try to climb the social ladder, you sodding fool.”

Blaise’s eyes said it all. He was enraged. Harry knew this wouldn’t be the last time they saw him. They would have to figure out how to stay a step ahead of him. His heart ached a little as he realized finding privacy together would probably just get harder. He reached down and plucked the little brass bug off of Zabini’s finger. He tossed it down and stomped on it twice, crushing it to pieces. But he’d seen this type of thing before in Knockturn Alley; Zabini would likely have a whole fleet of them.

Draco stood and flicked his wand, releasing the body bind curse. Zabini scrambled to his feet and swore vehemently at them before Disapparating in a hurry. Draco’s shoulders slumped and Harry seized him in an embrace. They hugged in complicated silence for several moments before finally parting and looking to each other to be the first to speak.

“Draco,” Harry broke first, “At some point people will start to believe him. Anyone who doesn’t like you will want to believe him no matter what you say.”

“What am I supposed to do? Tell me what I should do,” Draco looked surprisingly vulnerable. Harry had never seen him this way.

“I don’t know. I don’t understand this social ladder thing at all.”

Draco gazed off across the snow-mounded garden and the fields beyond. He seemed pensive, worried. Harry realized he was looking off in the direction of the Malfoy family cemetery. He was deep in thought, and Harry could practically see his mind working.

“In order to win,” Draco said so quietly that Harry almost missed his voice over the breeze whispering through the snowy branches, “I’ll have to take control of it myself.”

“What does that mean?” Harry was almost afraid to ask.

“I’ll have to come out,” Draco turned and looked at Harry with solemn gray eyes. “I’ll have to tell everyone that I’m gay.”

Harry’s heart stuttered to a halt. He had said the word. Harry had thought about it a thousand times since they first kissed, avoided thinking about it since puberty. He’d never been able to say it. He felt something inside of him churn as the word hung in the air between them.

Draco seemed to understand his conflict. He curled his arms around Harry’s shoulders and drew him in close. “You don’t have to say it,” he murmured. “And I won’t say anything until you’re ready.”

“But if you wait, Blaise may say it for you,” Harry said into Draco’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and breathed in the warm scent of the boy in his arms. His heart was so full for him but he couldn’t make the right words come out.

“We’ll stay ahead of him,” Draco squeezed him reassuringly. “It will stay our secret until we choose to share it.”

“Just give me time,” Harry said with a bravery he didn’t feel.

They heard the sound of tires on the road beyond the gate and separated without discussion. A long black antique car pulled up the drive and stopped in the turnaround. The back door opened and a small elderly woman climbed out. She squinted around, at the house, at the garden, and finally at the two boys, who were somewhat disheveled from the snow fight and the ensuing standoff.

She stalked over to the indentation on the ground where Zabini had lain frozen. She waved her hand and coughed delicately. “Such negativity,” she muttered. She moved on to the scattered snow piles where Draco had whitewashed Harry’s face in snow. Her hand flew to her chest and she giggled as though she could see the ridiculous struggle that had taken place there. Finally she approached Draco and Harry. She reached out and placed a hand on each boy’s arm. Her face softened and she looked up at them with adoration in her eyes. “Such love,” she said sweetly.

Draco and Harry blushed.

“Gracious, you two,” she blushed as well and stepped back as though flummoxed by their presence. “By Merlin’s wand, I won’t get much done with you radiating like that.”

“Sorry,” the two boys said in unison.

“I am so happy to meet you, Mister Malfoy,” she curtsied delicately. “I am Winnifred Wamsley, your exorcist.”

“Nice to meet you in person, Madam Wamsley,” Draco bowed. “This is my friend, Harry.”

“Harry Potter,” she said knowingly, her eyes flicking up to his forehead, where his scar was visible in the bright snow glare.

“Please, Madam,” Harry stammered, “don’t tell--”

“It is not my business to share anyone else’s business,” she interrupted him with a wave of her hand. “I deal in exorcism. I see the demons that people live with day in and day out. My job is to banish the dark, not to spread it around.” She smiled sweetly, “And that applies to the light of love as well.”

“Thank you,” Harry’s throat was dry.

“Now,” Madam Wamsley turned to face Malfoy Manor. “This was a tricky one, indeed it was,” she clucked her tongue and shook her head disapprovingly. “So much pain and suffering took place here. So much negative energy.”

“Did you fix it?” Draco’s voice had a hard edge to it.

“I did indeed,” she smiled up at the home. “Let’s have a look, shall we?” She climbed up the steps to the oversized carved doors.

Draco hesitated, doubt etched in a vertical line between his eyebrows. Harry reached his hand out and smiled. Draco grasped his hand in return and ascended the steps with him. This had been his home, and Harry intended to show him that it still could be.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days flew by in a flash. They had end of semester cram sessions, mid-year apprenticeship reviews, and endless exams. Wednesday arrived without fanfare, a lone unscheduled day in the middle of the frenzy. Draco stood in the breezeway and leaned out through one of the arched openings. The snow was mounded up at the base of the wooden support beams, but someone had come along and cleared the walkway of snow and ice.

He wore a fitted burgundy and blue argyle sweater and tan corduroy slacks. He'd been shopping in the muggle catalogs again. The collar of his black double-breasted pea coat was turned up against the wind, and a simple black knitted cap topped his head.

"We're coming!" a voice rang out at the entrance of the school.

Harry, having learned nothing from his slip and fall last weekend, came barreling down the breezeway. The sunlight spilling through each arched opening highlighted him in regular intervals, gleaming softly off of his brown leather pilot jacket. The shearling collar was askew and his boots were untied beneath his jeans. The Weasel and Granger were behind him, faces beaming with excitement. Draco suppressed a groan. He had really hoped they would forget.

Weasley wore a green anorak with orange lining, a color combination that was probably intended to accentuate his ginger hair but instead made him look like a warning placard. Granger was dressed in one of her typically bland but perfectly suitable dresses topped in an un-noteworthy blue winter coat. Her long curly hair was swept up in a barrette and she wore purple earmuffs to keep out the cold.

Harry stopped to kneel at Draco's feet and tie his boot laces. Draco extended his hand regally as though Potter's posture was intended as supplication. Harry looked up and slapped his hand away playfully. He stood and extended his arms. His three friends took a firm grip and they Disapparated with a whoosh.

They popped into the now familiar London alley and did a quick check to make sure they were sorted out properly. Draco led the way, having made the trip twice previously and feeling more confident about his surroundings.

The cacophony of Christmas lights and music and shoppers was breathtaking, and the group had to pause at the mouth of the alleyway to take it all in. Everywhere they looked lights twinkled and throngs of muggles with overflowing bags of trinkets and packages jostled and rushed to the next store.

"I love Christmas in London," Granger's eyes sparkled as they looked around. "It's magical."

Draco looked down at her, thinking she was a bit mad. There was nothing magical here, just muggle people and things. Sure it was a spectacle to behold, but magical?

"Metaphorically speaking," she clarified, seeing the look on his face.

He shook his head and set off, making his way a block over and up the road through the shoppers and traffic. Harry walked beside him, his hands jammed into his coat pockets, and the Weasel and Granger brought up the rear, arm in arm. Draco felt a twinge of regret, wishing he could loop Harry's arm through his.

One more dodge through traffic and they arrived at the laser removal storefront. He walked directly in as Weasley and Granger gawked up at the sign. He signed in and paid at the counter, then sat in one of the chairs that bordered the waiting room. The others sat in a line next to him, silent and still. Draco casually picked up a magazine and leafed through it, pretending he could make sense of the jumbled graphics and typography.

"Mister Malfoy," the nurse called from the doorway to the examination area. "You can come back now." All four students stood in unison. The nurse's eyebrows raised in surprise and she smiled apologetically. "Terribly sorry," she held up her hands as though to physically restrain them. "Your boyfriend can come back but your other friends should wait out here."

Draco's stomach turned to ice. Had she just said what he thought she said? He was afraid to turn his head and look at Harry, knowing the shock on his face would be echoed there. And that would just confirm her assumption to Granger and Weasley, who had gone quiet at the nurse's order.

Fortunately the nurse picked up on their reaction and amended her statement. "Pardon me, I mean your friend. I apologize, I shouldn't have assumed."

"Quite all right," Draco cleared his throat. Harry said nothing and followed Draco into the examination room with his head bowed and his cheeks flushed with humiliation. Draco could just imagine the kind of whispering the other two would do while they waited for the session to finish.

The doctor was pleased with Draco's progress. He noted that it usually took closer to six weeks to heal between appointments, but at four he was clearly ready for another round. Of course, Draco didn't admit that he had made use of healing spells during his time away.

"I think," the doctor said in his rolling accent, "Perhaps this section of lines may be completely eliminated after this session."

"Merry Christmas to me," Draco said lightly, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry returned a weak smile. He had rolled his chair over and taken Draco's free hand in his own, even though the nurse had only just applied the anesthetic. The doctor left the room and they had a moment alone as the topical gel numbed his skin. Draco laid back on the reclining examination chair and looked up into Harry's troubled green eyes.

"Alright, mate?" he asked, squeezing his hand.

"I'm fine," Harry smiled bravely. "It's no big deal. She corrected herself. It was a mistake."

"It wasn't exactly a mistake," Draco corrected. "You are my boyfriend."

Harry's eyes widened. He gulped nervously and took a breath, nodding so slightly that Draco almost missed it.

"Say it," Draco squeezed his hand again.

Harry blinked, adjusted his glasses, scratched his head, fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and laughed sheepishly. Draco waited patiently.

"Ah," Harry laughed again, looking heavenward for help. "I am, ah," he shook his head and smiled a smile that was almost a wince. "I am your," he paused and thought hard, "boyfriend. I am your boyfriend."

"Look at me," Draco said softly. Harry finally met his eyes. He was scared, but trying. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from Draco's forehead.

"I am your boyfriend," he smiled self-consciously.

"And?"

"And you are my boyfriend," Harry's expression softened and he leaned down to kiss Draco's lips.

"That's right," Draco kissed him again as the nurse entered.

"Oh! Well," she paused halfway in. "Do you need another minute?"

"No, it's okay," Harry sat back and ran his hand through his hair to gather his composure.

The nurse looked dubious and a bit confused, but the doctor nudged her forward. He wiped the anesthetic gel from Draco's forearm and went to work. The stinging elastic band snap was familiar by now, although it helped that he had a hand to squeeze from the start. The doctor was careful to trace the lines and concentrated closely on the filled-in bits of the skull. When he was done he sat back and admired his work. Little dots of blood speckled Draco's pale skin.

"I think you'll be quite pleased by the time your next appointment arrives," he said confidently.

The nurse applied a bandage and a few moments later they exited to the waiting room. Draco made another appointment for late January and the foursome departed. They stood out on the sidewalk for a moment, letting the holiday shoppers flow around them like a river. Conversation was stifled, partly due to the noise, and partly due to the lingering unaddressed implication the nurse had lobbed into their midst.

"Lunch?" Draco asked delicately, looking for a distraction.

"Sure," Weasley cleared his throat and looked down at Granger. "What's nearby?"

"There's an Italian place up the road a bit," she offered.

"Sounds good," Draco indicated for Granger to lead the way.

They set off, this time with the Gryffindor couple in the lead and Harry and Draco bringing up the rear. They kept their hands resolutely jammed into their pockets, although they did walk closely enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed and bumped. Granger's memory was off by about three blocks but eventually they found the diner she was thinking of. They were seated at a rectangular table near the picture windows, two to a side.

Draco had vacationed in Italy before, so he had more than a passing familiarity with the cuisine. This was not Italian cuisine, this was a typical foreign approximation. He took a chance on the veal Parmesan, hoping it would be passable. Harry went for a big bowl of pasta and the Weasel ordered something sloppy that was full of sausage. Granger ordered baked lasagna.

It took a moment, but conversation finally returned. The group mutually set aside the nurse's comment and turned to the safe subject of exams. Harry and Weasley complained soundly about Potions class and Granger took a firm stance against teaching Divination beyond the first few years. She certainly didn't see the point of wasting time with it now.

This was apparently a familiar topic for the trio, as Harry and Weasely responded to her rant with rude snorts and dismissive eye rolls. Draco wasn't quite sure how to fit into the group. The Gryffindor threesome had been friends since first year, back when he couldn't stand the sight of the lot of them. Back before he'd noticed the appeal of Harry Potter's smile.

He chose to remain mostly quiet. He laughed when something was funny, he protested when something deserved protesting, but otherwise mostly listened. He realized that this foursome might become a common grouping. If he and Harry really wanted to be together, getting along with each others' friends would be mandatory. Fortunately Harry had little to worry about, since most of Draco's friends were either gone or hardly friends at all. He thought briefly about cuddling with Harry on one arm and Pansy on the other and smirked at the absurd image.

Suddenly the table went quiet. His thoughts snapped back to the present and he tracked Weasley and Granger's eyes to the tabletop. He looked down.

Harry's hand was on top of Draco's. Somehow in all of the laughing and chatting he'd let his guard down and forgotten their ruse. He had chuckled at something Weasley had said and slid his hand affectionately over his Slytherin friend's fingers. Weasley and Granger had noticed it first. Harry had noticed it a belated moment later. Draco had tuned in last.

Weasley’s jaw dropped as he realized what this meant. He spluttered and looked accusingly at Harry for an explanation. Granger, on the other hand, only had eyes for Draco. Her gaze was steady, searching his face for something, although he didn’t know what.

"Fuck," Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Harry,” Weasley finally formed a coherent thought. “Are you having us on because of what that nurse said?”

Harry sighed and buried his face in his palm.

“He’s not having you on,” Draco said dryly.

“So you’re really, like, gay,” Weasley looked back and forth between them.

“It would seem so,” Draco said curtly.

“Since when?” Weasley’s voice rose octave.

“Since always,” Harry mumbled into his hand.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Harry?” Granger finally asked.

Harry didn’t answer. He leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling like he wished he could fly away. Draco reached over and caressed Harry’s ear reassuringly. The gesture made Weasley’s eyes bug out of his head.

“I thought you would think badly of me,” Harry finally said. Draco had the sneaking suspicion that he was trying not to cry.

“How could you think that?” Granger’s eyes filled with tears. “We love you. We’ve been best friends for years, nothing could change that.” She elbowed Weasley in the ribs.

“Right,” Weasley jumped and tried to regain his composure. “I mean, I’m shocked. Like, really shocked, mate. But that doesn’t mean I’m not your friend. I’m just shocked, is all.”

Harry kept his eyes resolutely fixed on the ceiling. A lone tear escaped and rolled down his cheek. Draco stroked his earlobe again.

“And honestly,” Weasley continued, “I’m probably more shocked about you and him than the gay thing.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I mean, Draco Malfoy? That poncey tosser?”

“I’m sitting right here,” Draco took a sip from his water glass to drown a more acerbic reply.

“Well don’t act like it makes sense,” Weasley shot back. “You’ve been nothing but a prat for the last seven years. Your family helped start the war. You took orders from you-know-who. What bloody sense does it make for Harry to--” he shook his head as though unable to finish.

“Fuck a Death Eater?” Draco finished calmly, refusing to let the Weasel ruffle his feathers.

“Merlin,” Harry buried his face in his palm again.

“Bloody Merlin,” Weasley agreed, turning his head away in disgust.

“It doesn’t matter,” Granger said firmly, jabbing Weasley again. “Whoever Harry chooses to be with doesn’t matter.”

“Personally, I think it’s going quite swimmingly,” Draco smiled beatifically, enjoying the Weasel’s discomfort. “I have to admit, I’m a wonderful boyfriend.”

Harry smirked around his hand and snorted.

“Honestly, Harry,” Weasley shook his head in disbelief. “This git?”

Harry finally uncovered his face and gestured helplessly. “He’s not that much of a git,” he laughed weakly.

“Pardon me?” Draco affected an outraged tone. “I’m as much of a git as I ever was. If anything you’ve become more of a git to match me.”

“You have been more of a git lately,” Weasley agreed.

“Stop saying git,” Granger ordered.

Harry slowly slipped his hand over Draco’s again. He raised his eyebrows and offered an apologetic smile. “Yeah, so this is what’s been going on with me lately.”

“I’m so sorry you thought you had to hide,” Granger reached across the table and covered his other hand. Weasley nodded and grasped Granger’s free hand. Draco reached across the table and placed his hand over Weasley’s. Three pairs of bewildered eyes turned his way.

“Oh, sorry,” He withdrew. “I thought we were doing a group thing.”

“He’s a git,” Weasley said.

“I know,” Harry smiled.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry’s head was spinning. Everywhere he looked there were Christmas lights and decorations and people dressed up and the sights and sounds of London whirled around in celebration of the season. And in the middle of it all, he walked hand-in-hand with his friend, no, his boyfriend, in the company of his two best friends. He’d dreamt about such a thing many times, but hadn’t had much hope of making it a reality.

Yet here they were, leaning on the railing over a public skating rink, watching tourists flail and slip across the ice as he rested his head on Draco Malfoy’s shoulder. And just a short distance away, Ron and Hermione were cuddled in a similar fashion.

He could hardly believe it was happening. He could hardly believe his friends had accepted the news of their involvement with as little outrage as they’d shown. Ron, in particular, was trying his hardest to act like everything was normal, even though Harry knew his mind must be reeling, too. He suspected Ron would deal with it in his own time and soon enough would have a barrage of questions for Harry to answer.

Hermione, on the other hand, hadn’t seemed terribly surprised. In fact, as they left the restaurant she had admitted that she’d suspected such a thing was going on since Halloween. Draco and Harry tried to convince her that they had dressed up as each other by coincidence, but she didn’t believe them. Ron was just a wee bit insulted that Hermione hadn’t shared her suspicions, but admitted he wouldn’t have been able to keep them to himself and would have just gone straight to Harry for the truth.

“What are you thinking about?” Draco said in his ear as he nuzzled his hair.

“Just thinking that I’m the luckiest guy in the world,” Harry smiled. “I have the three of you, and that’s pretty amazing.”

“Well I’ll admit that you’re lucky to have me,” Draco said with an arrogant sniff. “Maybe even Granger. The verdict is still out on Weasley.”

Harry turned his head towards Draco’s caress and they kissed softly. It was brilliant, standing out on the bustling streets of London, kissing a boy while no one cared.

“Hush, keep it to yourself,” he heard Hermione snap. Well, it was asking a lot of Ron, who had been born and raised in the conservative wizarding world. It would take time, but Harry felt sure that he would eventually stop bugging his eyes out every time they showed affection for each other.

They were due back at Hogwarts for afternoon obligations, but all four of them were reluctant to return. They wandered around until the sun sank low in the sky and the darkening evening made the holiday lights dazzle brilliantly.

Harry and Ron joked around like old days, and Draco and Hermione talked about serious matters like house elf liberation and limited terms of office for the Ministry of Magic. A meeting of the minds between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger was not something Harry had ever expected to see, but here it was. They did not share a worldview, needless to say, but they were respectful. And that was something he had expected even less.

Eventually they agreed that it was time to head home. It was nearly fully dark and the temperature had dropped significantly. Harry’s pilot jacket wasn’t warm enough to make up for his lack of a hat. They found a quiet alley behind a row of shops, grasped arms and Disapparated back to school.

They stood at the end of the breezeway and regarded each other thoughtfully. Ron and Hermione studied Harry and Draco as though they needed to put them into context with the familiar surroundings.

“I guess you’re not really telling anyone yet,” Hermione said abruptly.

“Not yet,” Harry shook his head.

“At some point we’ll have to,” Draco added. “Blaise Zabini has it in for me and he knows about us.”

“But for now act like you don’t know,” Harry said pleadingly.

“Of course,” Hermione suddenly threw her arms around Harry’s neck and squeezed him. “We love you, Harry. Don’t forget that.”

“That’s right, mate,” Ron shook his hand. His expression was strained. Harry had no doubt that Hermione would talk him through his confusion, but it would be a long road to total acceptance.

Draco cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. “In case you’re wondering, I can be quite lovable, too,” he said wryly.

“We’re trying, Draco,” Hermione said apologetically. “There’s just so much history.”

“Understood,” he nodded gracefully.

Hermione and Ron bid them goodnight and headed up to Gryffindor tower. Harry started to follow but Draco caught his wrist and held him back.

“I have something to show you,” he said, his gray eyes shining. “Come with me.”

He led Harry in and up the stairs. His body language told Harry that he was anxious, unsure of himself. Given Draco’s penchant for bravado, he seemed oddly vulnerable. Harry’s stomach churned anxiously in response.

Finally they reached the seventh floor and Harry realized where Draco was taking him. He dug his heels in and stopped.

“I can’t,” he shook his head and took a step backwards.

“It’s not what you think,” Draco’s face fell, although he had surely expected this response.

“What is it then?” Harry fidgeted with his glasses. His mind was filled with memories of Fiendfyre and death.

“It’s a place just for us,” Draco said softly. “Where we can be alone.”

“It’s not the Room of Hidden Things,” Harry’s voice threatened to quit.

“It’s not, I promise,” Draco held out his hand tentatively. Harry allowed himself to be led forward.

Draco brought him to the blank wall and stood quietly for a moment. Suddenly the stones shifted around and an opening formed, revealing a room beyond. Draco stepped through and drew Harry in behind him. The wall closed up, concealing their passage.

Harry gasped. They were in a lavish space that was dominated by an oversized plush bed and an ornate fireplace. A fire crackled warmly within, casting flickering yellow light across the satiny, burnished wood floors. A curvaceous sofa wrapped around the hearth, creating a perfect place to curl up before the fire. A window on the far wall projected an image of a nighttime mountain landscape. Hurricane lamps dotted the room, filling the corners with a warm glow. In the far corner a small stove was outfitted with a kettle and a few pots and pans.

“We can bring food and tea with us,” Draco seemed nervous. “We could hide out in here for as long as we want to.” He took a breath and held his arms out as though presenting the space formally. “What do you think?”

Harry seized Draco’s hand and reeled him in. He kissed him deeply until they both had to stop to catch their breath. “It’s brilliant.”

Draco pulled him back in for another kiss and ran his hands through Harry’s messy dark hair. He traced his fingers down Harry’s jawline and held him close. Harry sucked Draco’s tongue into his mouth and ran his hands down Draco’s back to his arse. Draco shifted his feet, guiding Harry backwards bit by bit towards the luxurious bed.

They flopped onto the plush mattress in a tangle of limbs and Harry felt a surge of excitement as he realized they were well and truly alone, completely beyond interruption or eavesdropping. They could have each other any way they wanted to and the moment would belong only to them. He laughed for the sheer pleasure of it all as Draco ran his tongue down his neck to the hollow between his collarbones. He reached down and yanked the other boy’s sweater over his head and flung it across the room with abandon. Draco grinned and quickly tugged Harry’s shirt free, too. He buried his face in Harry’s neck once again, tasting and kissing and teasing down his chest.

“You’re bloody amazing,” Harry gasped, partly just because he could. No one could hear them, he could say what he wanted, be as loud as he wanted, be as free as he wanted. “I want to suck you off,” he announced.

Draco looked up in surprise, his eyebrows raised and his mouth open. “Yeah?” he asked hopefully.

“Come here,” Harry grasped his shoulders and flipped him onto his back. He unbuckled Draco’s trousers and pulled them off, along with his pants. Draco was fully ready, so Harry didn’t waste another moment. He knelt on the floor at the edge of the bed and pulled the other boy towards him.

He grasped the base of Draco’s knob in his fist and took it into his mouth. He could taste the first drops that had just begun to form and decided it wasn’t too bad. Salty, but not offensive. He took it in deeper, carefully to avoid his teeth. He wasn’t sure how to do it well, having never done this before. But Draco gasped and arched his back, so surely he was doing something right.

He moved his head up and down, using his hand as a guide. Draco writhed in delicious ecstasy. He was trying to speak, his mouth moving and his voice rasping haltingly. He was saying Harry’s name over and over, as his hands reached and grasped handfuls of Harry’s hair. Harry realized suddenly that this was what heaven must be like. He marveled at how much he enjoyed it. He never wanted to stop.

Draco’s breath caught in his throat and Harry felt him rise up beneath him. Draco climaxed intensely, breathless and rigid for a moment that hung in time, until an uncontrollable shout ripped from his throat. Harry reluctantly slid Draco’s softening member from his lips and sat back on his knees. He gazed up at Draco, immediately aroused again by his position below the other boy. He liked how Draco looked at him possessively, commandingly. He wanted Draco to tell him what to do.

Draco seemed to understand. He rolled forward and sat on the edge of the bed, he drew Harry towards him, his hand firmly on his shoulder to keep him on his knees. He guided Harry’s head between his thighs again and moved his mouth down to his bollocks. Harry licked and sucked, letting Draco guide his movements. He wanted the blond boy to command his every movement, to do whatever with him, as long as it gave him pleasure.  
Draco was already perking up again. He grasped Harry’s other shoulder and pulled him forward onto the bed, then rolled him onto his back with his head on the pillow. He gently wiped Harry’s face with the edge of the sheet and gazed into his eyes searchingly.

Do anything to me, Harry thought desperately. He wanted to be used, to be commanded.

Draco reached over the side of the bed and retrieved his belt. He pushed Harry’s hands up over his head and wrapped the leather around them, binding them together. He wrapped the end around the bed frame and lashed the buckle firmly. Harry’s heart pounded, both thrilled and nervous at the same time. He was completely helpless, vulnerable and unable to defend himself. He was rock hard again.

Draco laid on top of him, his legs nesting perfectly between Harry’s He reached down and pushed Harry’s knees apart, and traced his fingers up to his puckered entrance. It was easier this time, more familiar and welcome. Harry involuntarily tried to reach for Draco and was stopped by the belt strap. He pulled against the leather in frustration. Draco smiled with a glint in his eye, enjoying the struggle.

He withdrew his hand and hooked Harry’s leg under his elbow, pushing it up to his chest. With his other hand he slipped a pillow under Harry’s buttocks and positioned himself. He whispered a quick wandless spell and his palm was instantly slick with lubricant, which he slipped over his knob. With a slight shift of position he pressed forward, pushing against Harry’s prepared opening. He pressed forward again and slid home, all the way in, drawing a startled gasp from Harry’s throat. Harry yanked at the wrist restraint again as the sensation of fullness overwhelmed him. Draco hooked Harry’s other leg under his arm and pushed both legs up, gaining more access and pushing deeper. Harry cried out in surprise as his muscles spasmed with pleasure.

Draco started thrusting, slowly at first, then with longer, firmer motions. He picked up speed, his breath ragged in his throat. Their voices rose and intertwined, alternating between gasps, groans and shouts as climax approached. Harry yanked desperately at the restraints, crying out for freedom, while reveling in the ecstasy of helpless captivity. He looked up pleadingly at the boy above him, totally at the mercy of the Slytherin boy’s lust. Draco’s eyes were glazed, his face contorted in pure animal need. He thrust deeper and deeper, sending shock waves of pleasure up Harry’s spine. His useless hands grasped at nothing and he strained his neck trying to get his mouth to Draco’s. Draco saw his efforts and leaned his head back, smirking dominatingly at Harry’s desperation. It drove Harry crazy.

Suddenly Draco threw his head back and cried out, sending Harry over the edge, too. Finally the wave crested and rolled away, and they both collapsed in shudders and gasps. Draco reached up and released the belt, freeing Harry’s poor wrists. The leather had cut into his skin here and there, but he didn’t mind one bit. He seized Draco in his arms and pulled him to his mouth, kissing him deeply in gratitude.

Draco kissed him back, his touch gentle and yielding. He pulled back and looked searchingly into Harry’s eyes.

“Was that okay?” he murmured, holding Harry’s hand between them. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, it was brilliant,” Harry smiled reassuringly, kissing him again.

They held each other closely for a little while longer, petting and touching and caressing here and there. Finally Draco declared the mess intolerable and slid out of bed in search of his wand. A few cleaning charms did the trick, and soon the bed and the boys were spotless.

Fortunately the Room of Requirement had accommodated a very necessary requirement and provided a small bathroom along the wall between the fireplace and the window. They each took a trip to the facility and returned to the bed. With no more fanfare or production they promptly fell asleep in each others’ arms.

Harry awoke the next day without confusion, snugly ensconced in his partner’s arms. The projected landscape outside of the windowpane was softly brightening with the approach of daybreak. The fire continued its merry flickering, and the lamps were still at full wick. The room had performed smashingly.

They each made use of the restroom for a slash and a quick gargle. Then they fell upon each other again, snogging and stroking and touching everywhere their hands could reach. Draco ran his palm over Harry’s stubble and said his face was too scratchy for deep kissing. The pureblood boy’s pale skin was still silky smooth, not a trace of a mustache or beard.

“Don’t you have a beard at all?” Harry traced his fingertips across Draco’s chin.

“If I left well enough alone I might,” Draco shrugged. “I’ve been using a depilatory spell since my father spotted my first whisker. He said men of our station must maintain a properly refined appearance.” His voice dropped into a haughty, disdainful tone as he quoted his father’s philosophy.

“Have you ever thought about letting it grow?” Harry rasped his hand against his own bristle.

“Never,” Draco wrinkled his nose distastefully. “Given how relatively hairless I am elsewhere, I’m certain it would be less than adequate.”

“Well you can have some of mine,” Harry rolled over and rubbed his chin all over the other boy’s face.

They decided to head downstairs for breakfast, and then hauled up some extras for later. They spent the day holed up in their private retreat, only emerging late in the evening when their supplies ran low.

Over the next week they stole away to the seventh floor whenever they could. Draco timed his absences around a small number of mandatory appearances in Slytherin house, if only to keep Blaise from feeling too confident. Harry understood that it was only a matter of time before the other Slytherin boy chose another tactic. This would be an ongoing effort, all the way up to graduation.

They discovered over the course of several visits that the Room of Requirement seemed a bit more finicky than it used to be, possibly due to the damage inflicted upon Hogwarts during the war. Sometimes it simply would not open, no matter how focused their minds were. Neither boy was new to the room’s functionality, and both had acquired enough expertise in summoning a door that they knew it wasn’t due to inexperience. Sometimes the room manifested but it was out of sorts. The window might be missing, the bathroom might not have a sink, and one time there was no bed. But it worked often enough and well enough to be worth the occasional disappointment or change of plans.

Exams arrived without fanfare during the last week of school, and as Christmas approached the school’s population dwindled. Harry stayed on as usual, and since Malfoy Manor was still a mess of construction, Draco chose to stay on as well.

On the Friday before Christmas the boys returned to their separate houses after a frustratingly unsuccessful struggle to manifest their refuge. Ron intercepted Harry as he grumbled through the common room, waving him over to a table in the corner. There were no other students in the room, but he kept his voice low anyway.

“Are you still coming to Christmas at my house?” he asked hesitantly.

“Well,” Harry thought hard. Now that Draco had chosen to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday, he wasn’t sure it would feel right to spend the day without him.

“You want to spend it with Malfoy,” Ron read his thoughts.

“It’s his first Christmas without his family,” Harry explained apologetically. “He shouldn’t have to spend it alone.”

Ron nodded, gulping nervously. He took a deep breath and when he spoke his words came out in a rush, “You should ask him if he wants to spend Christmas at my house.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. The idea sounded completely mad.

“And what, just say he’s a friend?” Harry was dubious. “Ron, I couldn’t even make it through one lunch with you and Hermione without giving it away.”

“I was thinking you could come as, like, a couple,” Ron had difficulty saying it, but he said it nonetheless. He was trying.

“You’re mad,” Harry turned away.

“I’m not,” Ron protested, leaning forward to stop Harry’s retreat. “My mum and dad love you like a son. They’ll accept you.”

“You don’t know that,” Harry’s stomach knotted at the idea of telling Molly and Arthur the truth.

“I do know that,” Ron insisted. “They raised me, and you and I are still friends.”

“But you’re still pretty freaked out,” Harry pointed out. “Admit it, you’re not altogether comfortable with it.”

“Maybe not, but I know that’s my problem, not yours,” Ron’s eyes were pleading. “And they don’t hate Draco Malfoy, not like I do. They never went to school with that prat,” his eyes darkened momentarily. “Mum calls him ‘that poor Malfoy boy.’ She doesn’t blame him at all for what his parents did.”

“I don’t know,” Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t think I can.”

“Harry,” Ron’s voice was quiet, begging. “This is our first Christmas without Fred. And when Ginny found out you were coming this year she made plans to spend the day with her boyfriend’s family. If you don’t come, the house will feel empty. We need you to help hold us together.”

Harry could see that Ron was trying to hold back tears. He couldn’t say no, but he didn’t know how to say yes. He thought about looking Molly Weasley, the closest person he had to a mother, in the eye and telling her he was--

“I can’t say it,” Harry sat down hard. “I know who I am and I know I’m not a different person but I can’t say the words. I can't do it."

"What if I do it?" Ron asked. "I can call home right now and tell Mum and make sure she's okay with it."

Harry's head felt hot. If he said yes, there would be no turning back. If Molly was more conservative than Ron thought...

"She'll be okay with it, mate." Ron insisted. "You'll always be welcome at our house. Unless Ginny is there."

Harry laughed weakly. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Okay call her."

"Wait here," Ron leapt to his feet and ran up the stairs to his room. He returned with a small hand mirror with an ornately etched silver handle.

"Percy made this for his final year project. Mum insisted on sending it with me in case anything happened this year," he laughed ruefully. "Better late than never, I guess."

Harry moved to the opposite side of the room so he wouldn't be seen in the mirror's field of vision. Ron spoke an incantation that would connect the mirror to a matching one at the Burrow. A moment later the familiar voice of Molly Weasley chirped, thin and tinny, from the glass.

Harry couldn't quite make out her words but he could hear her tone. She was delighted to hear from her youngest son, but annoyed at the interruption. Harry had never met anyone else who could convey such nuanced emotion with her voice. She chattered at Ron for several moments, causing his eyes to bug out and his cheeks to flush red.

"Sorry, Mum," Ron said whenever there was an opening. "No, I didn’t know. I will."

Finally Molly finished lecturing. Her tone turned more accommodating,

“Well Mum, I just wanted to make sure it’s okay if Harry comes for Christmas,” Ron looked nervous, almost as nervous as Harry felt.

Molly’s tone was surprised and positive.

“Well, he wants to know if he can bring a friend,” Ron’s eyes flicked towards Harry. Harry nodded for him to continue, his heart in his throat, his stomach sick.

“No, not a girlfriend,” Ron continued. “Actually, it’s Draco Malfoy.”

Molly paused for a moment, then she answered with a question.

“No, they’re not enemies anymore,” Ron scratched his head awkwardly.

Molly’s tone sounded amenable

“Well,” Ron was repeating himself, Harry noted. “There’s something else you should know.” He took a deep breath and looked to Harry for confirmation again. “Well--”

Molly snapped at him, obviously wanting him to get to the point so she could return to her busy day.

“Right, sorry,” Ron shook his head and gulped. “Mum, Harry and Draco are more than friends. They’re boyfriends. Harry is gay.”

Harry felt lightheaded and leaned back in his chair. He suddenly felt too warm and wanted to leave. He stood and felt woozy, so he sat back down again. He put his head between his knees and tried not to be sick.

Molly was quiet. When she finally spoke her voice was soft, barely audible from the other side of the room. It was questioning, confused.

“No, Mum, he’s always been gay,” Ron shook his head. “He just kept it a secret until now.” He stammered and corrected himself, “I mean, it’s still a secret, but he’s telling people who are close to him. Don’t tell Ginny. The thing is, he wanted to make sure you would be okay with it before he came over.”

Molly responded quietly again.

“No, he’s not here,” Ron lied. “He was afraid to tell you himself.”

Molly’s voice sounded sad, pensive, apologetic, and worried. Harry smiled in spite of himself at the complexity of her tone. He sat up and took a breath to clear his head.

“Okay, I’ll call you later,” Ron sighed. “Yes, love you, too, Mum. Bye.” He ended the spell, set the mirror down, and rubbed his face with his hand.

“So?” Harry tried to keep his voice casual. It hadn’t sounded like a positive end to the call.

“She said she has to talk to Dad,” Ron clearly hadn’t anticipated that. “She said she can’t answer for him.”

“So I might not be welcome after all,” Harry finished his thought.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Ron’s eyes were guilty. “I’ll call her after supper and I’m sure it will be fine.”

“You just said that,” Harry smiled weakly.

“Sorry,” Ron’s face drooped. “I really fucked it up, didn’t I?”

“Let’s wait and see what she says before deciding you fucked it up,” Harry stood and departed for his room, leaving Ron to wallow in angst.


	10. Chapter 10

Draco was anxious, an emotion he was very displeased with. Such signs of insecurity were beneath Malfoys, he told himself. He stood before his mirror and squared his shoulders, smoothed down his navy blue v-neck sweater and straightened the knot on his tie. His gray dress slacks were perfectly pressed with a crease that was sharp enough to slice paper. His hair was styled neatly, freshly trimmed and trained into place. He looked impeccable. So why was he so nervous?

He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax his expression, chiding himself for allowing that groove to appear between his eyebrows again. He took a moment to regain full control of his nerves, donned his jacket, then with a click of his heels he exited for the breezeway.

Harry Potter was already waiting for him, fidgeting and fumbling and looking a bit disheveled. Draco stopped in front of him and said nothing. He eyed Harry up and down. He was wearing a red cable knit sweater over a white collared shirt. His trousers were chocolate brown corduroy, just slightly too long at the inseam, which he had compensated for by cuffing them rather than having them properly hemmed.

Draco pulled out his wand and cast a spell he’d learned long ago from the family tailor. Harry’s slacks straightened and the excess length dissolved into a perfectly seamed hem.

“Better,” he said, stowing his wand.

“They were fine,” Harry cocked his head and ran his hand through his perpetually messy hair.

“Leave that alone,” Draco swatted his arm down. “You’re fidgeting.”

“I’m nervous,” Harry shot him a half-hearted smile. The bright sun glared off of the snow covered grounds and glinted fiercely off of his glasses. He dropped his head and took a shuddery breath.

Draco grasped his shoulder and squeezed. Harry looked up and gave him another half-hearted smile. Draco stood tall and drew from his father’s back of tricks.

“Pull yourself together,” he commanded disdainfully. “You’re Harry Potter, and you’d bloody well better act like it. We are not leaving until you calm your nerves. I will not walk into that house and face that family with you blithering like a fool.”

Harry stared at him, stunned by his words. Draco smiled to take the edge off, but they seemed to have the desired effect. Harry stood a little straighter and set his jaw firmly. He took a breath and nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Draco lifted his chin approvingly. “I don’t know what you’re so nervous about. I’m the one who’s about to walk into a completely unfamiliar setting and graciously enjoy the hospitality of a family I’ve spent most of my life reviling.”

“The Weasleys are welcoming us into their home,” Harry said. “They’re welcoming us as we are, no hiding. You have nothing to be nervous about, they’ve already accepted you.”

“Then let’s go already,” Draco hoped his false bravado would hide the somersaulting butterflies in his stomach.

Harry reached out and grasped Draco’s arm, then Disapparated.

They landed just outside of a towering ramshackle structure unlike anything Draco had ever seen before. He gasped in spite of himself as he gazed up at the... he wasn’t sure whether to call it a house or a monstrosity. It was four or five storeys tall, difficult to tell with all of the bits and pieces stuck together at impossible junctions. The windows were crooked, the siding was mismatched, and the roof erupted in a riot of chimneys that seemed far too numerous for the size of the place. The snow lay around in heaps and piles, and Draco suspected it hid a multitude of gardening sins. He wasn’t sure whether this place counted as a farm, although he did spot a few chickens and what appeared to be cultivated land.

Harry was beaming, nervousness on hold. He spread his arms wide and took a deep breath, as though taking in the entire landscape. He turned to Draco with a grin.

“What do you think?” he asked gleefully.

“I’d best keep that to myself,” Draco quipped.

“Oh come on, you don’t think it’s brilliant?” Harry shoved Draco’s shoulder playfully.

“Sod off, Harry,” Draco staggered off balance and caught himself before he slipped.

“Let’s go inside,” Harry seized Draco’s elbow and hurried to the front door.

To his horror Harry didn’t bother knocking, he just walked straight inside. He stomped his shoes off on the mat and slung his coat over an already crowded hook, then stepped aside to allow Draco to enter. Draco was unprepared for the chaos that assaulted his eyes and ears upon entering.

The house was crammed. Crammed full of people, full of things, full of noise. Everywhere he looked soft furniture sagged and tables held up mounds of clutter. The walls were covered in portraits and children’s artwork and loads of knick-knacks, some more recognizable than others. Not a bit of it matched and no one seemed to mind. It was as different from Malfoy Manor as anything he could conceive of.

“Harry!” a chorus of voices called out. The kitchen was overflowing with gingers, all strategically placed around a long dining table and preparing various foods. He counted seven gingers in all, including Ron, his four brothers and their parents. Granger was peeling apples at the sink while two other girls bustled about at an older woman’s orders. This must be Molly Weasley, the mother of this brood.

“Come in, come in!” Molly Weasley rushed over and swept Harry up in an embrace that threatened to swallow him whole. “Merry Christmas, Harry! It’s good to see you.” She planted a motherly kiss on his cheek. Draco felt his face flush, embarrassed by the show of maternal affection.

“And Draco, welcome to our home,” Mrs Weasley’s smile was just a touch more strained now, but she took Draco’s hands in hers and squeezed warmly. “Oh come here, merry Christmas,” she threw her arms around him and gave him an engulfing hug as well.

Draco was speechless. No one’s mother had ever scooped him up and hugged him like one of her own before. His own mother had certainly never been so inclined. He had no idea how to respond so instead of hugging her back he simply stood frozen with his arms at his side and his knees locked. When she released him he knew he’d lost his casual composure, he could feel his eyes staring widely and knew his expression was dumbfounded.

Ron laughed so hard that he nearly fell off of his stool. “Malfoy!” he screeched. “The whole day is worth it just to see that look on your face!”

Draco swallowed the first response that came to mind, then the second and the third. “Thank you for having me. Merry Christmas to you, too,” he said stiffly. He looked to Harry for support and saw floured handprints on his sweater. He looked down at his own sweater and saw similar flour streaks. Mrs Weasley was baking, apparently.

“It’s fine,” Harry said quietly with a grin. He was enjoying Draco’s discomfort, too, Draco noted sourly.

The eldest ginger detached himself from the kitchen brigade and crossed the room to shake Harry’s hand. This would be Arthur Weasley, the patriarch of this family. He was distinctly less comfortable in Draco’s presence, although he didn’t know whether it was his name or his orientation that troubled him. He suspected it was a bit of both.

“Introductions all around,” Mr. Weasley pointed around the room and called names off one by one. “That’s Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, and Ron. Then there’s Audrey, Percy’s girl, and Fleur, Bill’s girl, and Hermione, Ron’s girl.” He looked around the group, “Did I get everyone?”

“Harry, introduce your friend,” Charlie called. Several looks were exchanged around the kitchen, making it clear that the nature of their friendship had been explained already.

“Everybody, meet Draco Malfoy,” Harry said sheepishly. “Draco, this is everybody.”

A smattering of greetings were returned and the conversation hushed. Finally Bill spoke up, “So you two are, like,” he looked around for confirmation, “lovers or partners or boyfriends or what?”

“Bill,” Mrs. Weasley swatted her eldest son across the rump with a tea towel.

Draco cleared his throat delicately and shoved his hands into his pockets, aware that his cheeks were burning red. “Yes, well, you could say any of those things.”

Harry’s head was bowed and his eyes were averted. Draco wondered why he was answering when coming here was all Harry’s idea in the first place. He was terribly uncomfortable.

Over by the sink Granger set the last peeled apple in a bowl and wiped her hands on the back of her skirt. She plucked Ron’s sleeve and nodded in the direction of their friends.

“Right,” Ron jumped up and hustled past his family, directing Harry and Draco up the crooked stairs. “Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

Draco followed behind the Gryffindor trio, bracing his hands on the walls of the narrow stairwell as the uneven risers threatened to trip his feet. Four flights up they arrived in a small room the size of Draco’s closet back home, with angled corrugated ceilings and a crooked window. Posters of star quidditch players were stuck everywhere, handsome men on broomsticks looking determined and sportsmanlike.

“Bloody hell, Weasley,” Draco gawked. “Look at all these men on your walls. And you call me a poofter?”

“I never!” Ron’s voice broke in outrage. “Harry, tell him I never called him a poofter.”

Harry sunk to the floor next to the bed and buried his head in his hands. “I don’t think I can do this,” he said softly. Granger sat next to him, her skirt puddling around her legs. She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“It’s really okay, Harry,” she said reassuringly. “Ron’s family doesn’t care. It’s just new, that’s all.”

“I don’t get it, You go to pieces every time it’s mentioned,” Ron sat on the edge of the bed beside Harry’s other shoulder. With nowhere else to sit, Draco leaned against the door and folded his arms across his chest. Ron looked up at him questioningly, “You don’t have a problem with it, do you, Malfoy?”

“Not as such,” Draco shrugged. “I made peace with myself years ago. Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just reputation management.” His words were braver than he felt, but he thought Harry needed to hear them.

“So what’s bothering you, Harry?” Ron asked. “Did you only just find out that you’re... the way you are?”

“No,” Harry said from behind his hand.

“So you’ve always known?” Ron wasn’t going to let him off the hook easily.

“Yes,” Harry sighed. Hermione hugged him tighter.

“Then what’s the problem?” Ron pushed.

“Ease up, Ron,” Hermione scolded. “Harry, why are you so scared to talk about it?”

Harry’s shoulders trembled and his breath became quicker and shallower. He shook his head and buried his face deeper in his arms. Draco waved Hermione aside and took her place, pulling Harry into his arms. He didn’t care that the Weasel was watching or that Hermione was pressed up against his other arm, still intent on comforting her friend.

“Talk to me,” Draco said quietly into Harry’s hair.

Harry took a deep breath and pushed it out slowly. When he spoke it was with such despair that Draco wanted to Apparate him away to their refuge in the Room of Requirement. “Dudley,” he croaked.

“Dursley?” Ron scowled.

“What’s a Dudley Dursley?” Draco looked to the other two Gryffindors for help.

“The Dursleys are Harry’s muggle family,” Ron said with disgust. “They treated him horribly. Made him sleep in a cupboard and treated him like a slave.”

“Dudley is his cousin,” Hermione clarified. “He’s a mean, nasty boy.”

“What did he do to you?” Draco asked, running his hand through Harry’s hair. “Do you want me to curse him?”

“No,” Harry lifted his head a bit, just enough to speak. “Dudley used to beat me, sometimes badly. He was always bigger than me, and until I went to Hogwarts it happened almost every day.” He sat up further and rubbed his wrist across his eyes, pushing his glasses up his forehead. “He used to hold me down and pound on me and call me queer and poof and bent and,” he paused, “arse bandit. And he wouldn’t stop until I said it, too.”

“I’ll curse him,” Draco gritted his teeth. Back when he’d hated the sight of Saint Potter, he’d had no idea he was going through such things at home. Well, he’d never hated the sight of him, just the idea of him.

“Dudley called me many terrible names, but those were the ones he saved for the worst beatings,” Harry looked exhausted. “He didn’t know that I really was,” his voice dropped, “queer. But I knew, and I knew what it meant. And I knew it was the worst thing imaginable.”

“Oh Harry,” Hermione threw her arms out to embrace Harry, sandwiching Draco between them. He struggled to free himself and sit back so she could pull her friend closer.

“Granger,” he said delicately, “Can you give us a moment?”

She looked up in surprise. She and Ron exchanged a look and they exited together without a word. Draco waited until both pairs of feet had retreated to the ground floor. He pulled Harry into his arms again and sat quietly, trying to think of what to say. He looked around the room, at the shabby walls and angled ceiling, the posters and knick knacks, the patchwork bed quilt. It was small and cluttered and tacky and worn, but kind of comfortable and homey in a way Draco would never admit out loud.

“Honestly,” he said, craning his neck at the array of posters. “If I’d seen this before I would have guessed Weasley was the gay one.” Harry’s shoulders shook. Draco realized he had laughed. “Poncey, prancy Ron Weasley, what an arse bandit,” he added.

“He’d kill you if he heard you say that,” Harry lifted his head.

“No he wouldn’t,” Draco gave Harry a nudge in the side. “Because he knows who he is, and it doesn’t matter what I say.” He reached over and tipped Harry’s face towards him. “Besides, there are worse things in the world to be called.”

“Like Death Eater,” Harry said softly, looking closely at Draco for a reaction.

“Right, like Death Eater,” Draco agreed. “That name will follow me around for the rest of my life, tattoo or not. But it’s just a name. And it doesn’t change who I am.” He drew his thumb down Harry’s cheek and brought his face closer to his. He kissed Harry gently. “But I’d rather be known as queer than a Death Eater. Because I can say, yeah I’m queer. I’m queer for Harry Potter. If someone wants to make fun of me for who I love, that’s their problem.”

Harry looked at him closely for a moment. A smile touched his lips and he laughed wonderingly. “Did you just say you love me?”

Draco was startled. Had he? He briefly considered pretending otherwise, to save himself from embarrassment. But looking into those green eyes, he knew he had nothing to be embarrassed about.

“I did,” he stroked the other boy’s cheek again. “I love you, Harry.”

Harry’s smile grew until it overtook his whole face. He leaned forward and kissed Draco gently. “I love you, too,” he whispered.

“You’d be crazy not to,” Draco quipped.

“Merry Christmas, Draco,” Harry cupped Draco’s face in his hand and squeezed his earlobe affectionately.

“Merry Christmas, Saint Potter.”

“We should go downstairs.” Harry sighed.

“Are you going to be okay?” Draco asked.

“I guess.”

“I want to hear you say it,” Draco stopped him from rising.

“Say what?”

“I want you to say, I’m gay,” Draco said firmly. “Or queer or bent or arse bandit, it’s up to you. You need to say it, because one of those preposterous gingers downstairs will likely say it again, and you need to be okay with that.”

“Is it really so easy for you?” Harry’s brow furrowed again.

“If it were my father asking, I’d be as terrified as you, trust me,” Draco shuddered at the thought. “But things have been different since the war. I’m not scared anymore. Everything I was scared of was embodied in my father. Without him around I’m free to be whoever I want to be. And nothing else seems frightening by comparison.”

Harry nodded thought for a moment. Finally he looked up at Draco, his eyes intense. “Draco,” he said seriously, “I’m gay.”

Draco smiled and kissed him again. “Totally gay.”

“Time to eat!” Ron’s voice bellowed up the stairs.

“Come on,” Harry stood up and dragged Draco to his feet.

They trampled down the uneven stairs and returned to the kitchen, where the dining table had been lengthened with extensions to seat twelve. Harry and Draco were swept up in a crowd of merriment, who passed them along to a pair of seats near the stove. They were directly across from Ron and Hermione, next to Mrs. Weasley at the end. Mr. Weasley at the other end was busy carving the roast, using magic to pull a perfectly thin, spiraled slice off of the bone.

Draco was sandwiched between Harry and the girl named Audrey, which meant the man on the other side was Percy. He vaguely remembered Percy from school but he never paid him much mind at the time. Bill was diagonally across from Draco, his wife was next to him and Charlie was on the corner. George was on the other side of Percy, to Draco’s relief. He remembered vividly that George’s twin brother had died in the war, and his intuition told him he should avoid creating any opportunity for the grief-stricken man to bring it up.

Harry passed a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes beneath Draco’s nose. He sat back, startled, belatedly realizing that this was how the meal was being served. Of course there wouldn’t be any servants or house elves. He looked over at Harry’s plate and saw an embarrassing mound of potatoes, which he was now ladling gravy over. He did his best to dollop a more respectable pile on his own plate, trying his best not to notice the fact that most of the china on the table was mismatched. He passed the bowl along and immediately had another one shoved in its place.

The food came from every direction, and once or twice Charlie actually threw a bread roll down the length of the table rather than pass the basket. Several simultaneous conversations piled on top of each other, each louder than the next. They pulled crackers and tossed the little prizes contained within at each other. There were smiles and laughter and joking and affectionate teasing, and Draco was totally overwhelmed. This was nothing like Christmas at Malfoy Manor, where they assembled dutifully in the vast, opulent formal dining room for a structured and emotionally distant supper with a smattering of Malfoy and Black relatives who were mostly unheard of the other 364 days of the year. He imagined hurling a bread roll across the table at one of those events and his hands trembled at the thought of his father’s reaction.

“So Draco,” Mrs. Weasley snapped him out of his reverie. “What are your plans for after graduation?”

Draco knew she was being polite. The conversations were swirling around him and he hadn’t spoken since they’d returned from upstairs. She was trying to involve him, which was kind of her, but he wasn’t sure he knew how to function in this kind of environment.

“Well,” he set his fork down and cleared his throat. “I’m considering pursuing a course of study in Healing.”

“Healing,” Mrs. Weasley looked delighted. “That’s a noble path. Did you hear that, Arthur? Draco is going to be a Healer.”

“Excellent, the world can always use more Healers,” Mr. Weasley said politely. The whole table’s attention was on Draco now, much to his discomfort.

“What do you need to be a Healer for? Haven’t you got enough money for a lifetime?” Charlie asked around a mouthful of green beans.

“I’d like to do more with my life than just socializing and investing,” Draco said simply, squashing down the more hostile answer that popped into his brain out of habit. It was hard not to go back to his old ways of sneering and cutting remarks when he was stressed.

“Who would want to be healed by a Death Eater?” George asked flatly without looking up from his plate. Everyone at the table fell silent.

“George, be polite to our guest,” Mrs. Weasley chided gently.

“It’s okay,” Draco said, more out of obligation than sincerity. Beneath the table Harry slipped his hand over his and squeezed it reassuringly. “It’s a reputation I’m going to have to contend with, and I realize that fully.”

“He’s having his tattoo removed,” Ron piped up. “He’s having a muggle doctor blast it off of his arm with a,” he leaned over to Hermione, “what’s it called?”

“A laser,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Laser tattoo removal. It removes tattoo ink from skin.”

“It was Harry’s idea,” Draco said quickly. “He’s the one who realized it might work and told me about it.”

“It’s working pretty well, too,” Harry chimed in. “It takes several sessions but it’s already starting to fade.”

“Show it,” George said in that same flat voice.

“I’d rather not,” Draco smiled apologetically. “It’s still healing and it’s not exactly dining table appropriate.”

“We’ve all got strong stomachs,” George’s voice was sharper this time. He looked up from his plate, his eyes shadowed. “Show us how you’re erasing your Dark Mark.”

“George,” Mr. Weasley said firmly. “Your mother asked you to be polite.”

“I understand your curiosity,” Draco dug deep to find the social grace his mother and father had tried to ingrain in him. “But I don’t think it’s appropriate to share at the present. My apologies.”

“It’s okay, Draco,” Mrs Weasley exchanged a look with her husband. Mr. Weasley put his hand on George’s shoulder. George’s attention returned to his plate.

“Speaking of Healers,” Bill cleared his throat to change the subject, “We’re going to be in the market for one soon.” He picked up his wife’s hand and beamed proudly. “We’re expecting.”

The table exploded in cheers, the unfortunate business between George and Draco forgotten in an instant. Mrs. Weasley jumped up from her chair and ran to her son and daughter-in-law and covered them with kisses and hugs. The brothers all spoke at once, clamoring to preemptively claim the status of best uncle. Even Harry added to the din with his hearty congratulations. Draco thought his head might explode.

On the tail of that announcement, Mrs. Weasley decided it was time for presents. The brothers all groaned in agony as she darted to the master bedroom and returned with an armful of colorful knitted fabric. She flitted around the table, handing out handmade woolen sweaters, each in a different hue and marked with the initial of the recipient. The ginger hoard took it in good-natured stride and thanked their mother enthusiastically, but behind her back they winced and exchanged looks of familial suffering.

Mrs. Weasley demanded that everyone try on their sweaters right there at the table as she passed them out. Ron’s sweater was bright yellow, with a bold blue R in the middle. When his head emerged miserably from the neck hole Draco couldn’t help but laugh. He leaned across the table and caught Ron’s eye, gesturing his approval of the unusual fashion statement. Ron looked aggrieved as he looked down at the lumpy yellow thing.

“And one for Harry,” Mrs Weasley dropped a green sweater in Harry’s lap. Harry didn’t hesitate, he immediately popped it over his head and grinned proudly as he jammed his arms through the sleeves. Draco looked at him like he’d grown another head. Did he actually like this absurdly monogrammed garment? He couldn’t tell.

“And for Draco,” Mrs. Weasley smiled.

Draco’s heart froze in terror. Oh please, not a sweater, he thought.

“I didn’t have time to make you a sweater, so I made you something else,” she withdrew a multicolored woolen cap with a puffball on top and a large letter D stitched across the front. The table cheered at the sight of it, clearly enjoying the prospect of sharing the pain with a new guest.

“Try it on!” Harry shouted, his eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. Ron was devouring his sleeve in an effort not to laugh. Granger’s face was buried in one of the scarves Mrs. Weasley had made for the girls.

Draco stared at the hat and considered running from the room. He was expected to put this on his head? He looked up at Harry for help, but there was none to be found there. Harry wanted to see the puffball cap on his head, too.

Realizing he had no choice, he took a breath and slid it over his head. When he looked up he knew it looked as absurd as he feared. Ron was shrieking with laughter and nearly fell out of his chair with hysteria. Granger’s shoulders shook with giggles. He glowered at Harry, who reached up to straighten the cap so that the D was front and center, and then bobbled the puffball to everyone else’s delight.

“It’s warm, isn’t it?” Mrs. Weasley’s eyes sparkled, too. Draco suspected that she’d intended the absurdity of the hat, possibly as some kind of rite of passage to enter the good graces of this house of lunacy.

“It’s smashing,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. That set them off again as everyone roared and pounded the table.

The family finally moved on to the next ritual and adjourned to the living room for gifts and tea. Mrs. Weasley lingered in the kitchen just long enough to cast a cleanup spell, then joined everyone around the Christmas tree.

Draco and Harry found a seat on the floor near the stairs as packages started circulating. They were mostly small, wrapped simply, with just enough to go around. Draco thought about Christmas at Malfoy Manor, typified by an enormous Christmas tree that was decorated impersonally by House Elves, and an embarrassment of packages spilling out around the base. Draco remembered wading through a waist-deep pile of exquisitely wrapped gifts, unimpressed by the bounty. He had teased Ron enough times about his family’s financial standing that he knew they must have scrimped and pinched to provide for the holidays.

As that thought flitted through his brain one of the ginger brothers passed a small package back and said his name. Another was passed to Harry. Draco looked up in surprise.

“Is this for me?” he mouthed.

“Yeah,” Harry’s eyes shined as he saw its effect on Draco.

“I don’t know what to say,” Draco stared down at it in his lap. His eyes prickled. The package was square, about the size of his hand, and wrapped in basic red paper. It wavered before him as tears blurred his vision. This family, who he’d mocked and derided his whole life, who he’d looked down upon as poverty-stricken nobodies and blood traitors, who had made the best life they could from so little, and who surely couldn’t have afforded much extra, had given him a present. Him, Draco Malfoy, a boy they only knew through the evils wrought by his family. They had given him a present. He blinked hard to hold the tears back.

Harry slipped his hand through Draco’s and held it warmly. Draco’s chin trembled. If anyone spoke to him now, he would blubber like a baby. He stood and excused himself to the restroom.

He could hear the family’s cheers and expressions of surprise and gratitude as he stood before the sink, leaning on the edge for support as he gathered his composure. He looked up at himself in the mirror, his hair tousled from its brief encounter with the unsightly woolen cap. There were still traces of flour down the front of his sweater. His ears rang from the exuberant celebration and he wondered how he’d ever looked forward to the solemn gift opening process he grew up with. He took several deep breaths to steady himself, then returned to the living room.

Harry had just opened his present and was staring at it in confusion. it was a square piece of blue glass with an uneven edge. It bore no writing and served no obvious function. Draco could tell from Ron and Granger’s posture that they’d had a hand in the gift’s selection.

“Open yours, Malfoy,” Ron called. “It’s from all of us.”

Draco sat next to Harry and carefully lifted the edges of the wrapping paper. The family catcalled and teased him for being so neat and tidy with it. When he had the long edge free Charlie swooped in and snatched the paper up, crumpling it in a big show of destructiveness and tossing it into the fireplace.

“That’s how you open a present at the Burrow, mate,” he winked.

“Right,” Draco turned his attention to the box in his hands and lifted the lid. Inside was a blue piece of glass, identical to the one Harry held. It bore an uneven border on the opposite edge. “I assume they’re meant to be fitted together,” he said.

“Do it!” Bill shouted from the other side of the room.

Harry and Draco placed the two pieces of glass side by side and the uneven edging lined up perfectly. The pieces pulled together as though drawn by a magnet and snapped firmly into place. As soon as they were connected an object appeared embedded within. They held it up and peered inside. The object was a small brass palm tree.

“What is it?” Harry was confused.

“It’s a portkey,” Hermione explained. “It’s for the two of you to use together.”

“When the pieces are separate the key can’t be used,” Ron added. “But when you put them together, it appears again. Break it open to get the key inside.”

“It’s sort of a one time use kind of thing,” Hermione said.

“Where does it go?” Harry asked.

“A wizard resort in the South Pacific,” Hermione smiled. “We couldn’t afford the resort, mind you, just the key. But it’s supposed to be beautiful and secluded and very romantic,” she blushed and looked around the room self-consciously.

“It’s brilliant,” Draco said, his heart overwhelmed with gratitude for the gesture. They would have had to have bought one that was approved for intercontinental travel. Add on the magic glass container and he knew it had to have been dear. He looked up and tried not to well up again. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Harry was rendered almost speechless.

Hermione jumped up and threw herself at them, her arms open wide to hug both boys. “Merry Christmas, you two,” she whispered in their ears.

“We didn’t bring anything for you,” Draco was suddenly horrified at their lack of manners. “I didn’t know you would do something like this.”

“It’s okay,” Hermione sat back on her heels and smiled. “This was our surprise.”

Draco nodded and smiled back. “Thank you, Granger.”

“You already said that,” she teased.

“Well,” he looked around the room, at the bustling family who were enjoying each other’s company and chatting about their gifts, clad in absurdly lumpy wool sweaters with love in every stitch. “It bears repeating.”


	11. Chapter 11

The new year brought a new semester, and the familiar comfort of starting with a clean slate. Professor Slughorn celebrated by imposing a stricter schedule of apprenticeship hours in the potions classroom, which Harry met with none of the grace and composure that one would expect from a mature upperclassman who was preparing for life in the adult world. At eighteen he was far too old for tantrums, but he desperately wished it were otherwise so he could show his true feelings about spending more time scrubbing cauldrons.

Madam Pomfrey had similar designs on Draco's time, and Hagrid and Madam Pince found similar needs for their progenies' time. They suspected all of the teachers may have been given the same directive to occupy their students' free hours.

Added to the frustration of busier days was the renewed enthusiasm with which Blaise Zabini pursued his ascent to Slytherin house superiority. After his encounter with Harry and Draco at Malfoy Manor he had kept to himself, reserved and clearly unhappy with his predicament. Apparently re-energized by the holiday break, he pursued his quarry doggedly with none of the clandestine subtlety of the previous fall.

Zabini followed them, frequently with Slytherin underclassmen in tow, pretending that he always happened to have business to attend to in whatever direction they were heading. They found it impossible to get away, and passing affections in empty corridors became fraught with tension, as they could never be sure Zabini wasn't approaching. Harry became so paranoid that he started checking every night to ensure the Marauder's Map was securely in his room and wasn't being used to track his movements.

It took only two weeks for Zabini to figure out that their occasional disappearances always happened on the seventh floor. So of course he suspected the Room of Requirement. The first time he intercepted them they almost blew their cover.

It was Harry's fault. He let his guard down, and as they stood before the blank wall he sidled up behind Draco and slipped his arms around his waist. Draco tipped his head back and let Harry nibble around the edge of his earlobe.

"Mm, you smell fantastic," Harry murmured. "Has anyone ever told you that you smell fantastic?"

"Of course they have," Draco's flip response was marred by a burr of lust in his voice.

"I don't mean your shampoo or your soap," Harry stroked his hands down Draco's stomach. "I mean you. Your natural smell. It drives me crazy." Draco turned in Harry's arms and pressed him against the stone wall, his hips grinding against the other boy's.

If Zabini's underclassman escort hadn't dropped a book on the stairs and scattered them to opposite sides of the corridor, they likely would have been caught. They stood with guilty expressions as Zabini casually sailed by, a fifth year boy at his side. That was the first time they abandoned their retreat without trying to summon it.

They figured out that Zabini's current plan was to expose them to a third party who could confirm his allegations about Draco's dalliance with the Gryffindor Golden Boy. Harry harbored a naive hope that, if outed, the current generation of wizards would be more open-minded than previous ones, and the impact of such an announcement would fall flat. But he had to admit to himself that the odds were slightly better that Zabini would indeed successfully spin it in a negative light, harming Draco's reputation for good.

Draco had said that he would come out himself when the time was right, and when Harry was ready. He didn't know when that would be, but he knew that it didn't feel right now. He was getting comfortable with himself, learning not to disconnect his feelings from his words. He was learning to be okay with the way he was without feeling like he needed to run and hide whenever it came up in conversation. But he wasn't yet to a point where he felt he could face the whole school, or the whole wizarding world if the Daily Prophet deemed it gossip column worthy.

So they continued to sneak around and tried to find moments alone when Blaise was otherwise occupied. His apprenticeship was in Divination, and Harry made it his business to know when Zabini would be busy working. During those times they snuck away to their refuge on the seventh floor whenever possible.

Until the day Zabini was waiting outside when they exited.

It had been a particularly exciting visit to their private getaway. Draco had agreed to let Harry top, which introduced both boys to a new set of sensations and pleasures. When they were done they rested and then switched roles. And after a brief discussion decided that's how they preferred it. So Harry rolled over and they went again. By the time they were done they were so exhausted and sated that they knew they could make it a few days if circumstances prevented them from returning.

Before they exited the Room of Requirement Draco backed Harry up against the wall beside the door and bumped their foreheads together. He stood silently, his eyes searching and his mouth pressed into a right line. He looked as though he wanted to speak but couldn't decide what to say. Harry waited patiently, his hands on Draco's hips.

"Thank you," Draco whispered after an eternity.

It was the best he could do, Harry knew. Christmas had been emotional and overwhelming and feelings just sort of leaked all over. In the peaceful solitude of their private space, words were easier to come by, but also easier to hold back. Draco did his best, but saying the L-word was hard.

"Thank you, too," Harry's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. He didn't need Draco to say it again. They both grappled with words, whether it was Harry's reluctance to name what was between them or Draco's reluctance to share his deep affection. But words were just window dressing. The feeling behind them was what mattered. And they both knew the feelings were there.

Draco smiled and released him, then opened the door to exit. Harry stepped forward to follow. Suddenly Draco's hand shot out and he shoved Harry aside, away from the door.

"Zabini," Draco said with a dismissive air that Harry suspected wasn't sincere. "Waiting for a turn?"

Harry could just see Draco's back from where he was standing. The blond Slytherin boy leaned casually against the door jamb and blocked the entry.

"Why, is Potter giving out free rides?" Zabini shot back. Two voices laughed. He'd brought witnesses, as usual.

Harry's face burned with humiliation. He knew Blaise was just trying to get a rise out of Draco but he didn't enjoy hearing the implication. It made him feel dirty and used.

"Wow, I didn't know you bent that way, Zabini," Draco said with surprise in his voice. "I'm not sure Potter is into that sort of thing but I'm sure he'll be flattered." The two underclassmen laughed again, this time nervously.

"You know what I'm talking about," Blaise snapped. "Why don't you call him out here so he can speak for himself."

"He's not in there," Draco stood his ground, not exiting or allowing anyone to enter. "I happen to be working on a special project for McGonagall that requires privacy."

"Don't be daft, we saw you up here together the other day."

"Oh, you saw him enter with me?" Draco sounded surprised again.

"Of course not," Blaise was impatient. "But--"

"Right, because I'm working in privacy," Harry could hear the smile in the other boy's voice. He much preferred that to the harsh, sneering edge that was so familiar but hadn’t come out in so long. It stirred uncomfortable memories of a time when he would have been happy to strike Draco Malfoy. Or worse.

"If you'll step aside I would like to use the room," Blaise snapped.

"Apologies, I can't have you entering without McGonagall's approval. Private project," he said again.

"Bollocks!" Blaise was getting frustrated. "A private project in a room with a fireplace and a bed?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss it," Draco insisted.

"Fine. Then step out so the room can reset," Zabini commanded. "If there's no one in there, as you say, it should reopen according to my wishes."

Harry's blood ran cold. He was right, as long as he was hiding here the room would hold its current specifications.

"No good, Zabini," Draco shook his head. "I can't trust you. As soon as I move you'll run past me."

"You have my word. With witnesses, see?"

Harry made a decision. He visualized the corridor outside of Gryffindor house and Disapparated. The Fat Lady yelped and darted from the frame as he appeared. He would have to wait for her return to get inside.

It was a risky choice. Disapparating was not a silent feat. In fact, anyone with even a passing familiarity with the skill would recognize the sound instantly. Harry knew Blaise would know a Disapparate spell when he heard one. The question was, would the underclassmen? It was advanced magic, not one taught to the younger students. But if they were from skilled wizarding families, they might be familiar with it.

Harry paced, waiting for the Fat Lady to return. He wondered if he should look for Draco near the stairs to the seventh floor. He wouldn't Disapparate, he would know better than that. But where would he go?

Suddenly the familiar popping sound drew his attention to the landing below the stairs that descended from Gryffindor house. Draco appeared and turned to search for Harry. He ascended quickly and hustled Harry down to the alcove off of the narrow corridor at the end of the wall.

"Blaise heard you," Draco's face was dark, angry. He wasn't angry at Harry, but Harry couldn't help but cringe at his tone. Every time they ran into Zabini, he was reminded of the unpleasant rivalry that had kept him and Draco Malfoy on hostile, even violent terms for so long.

"What about the other two?" Harry asked tensely.

"They didn't hear it. Or maybe they did but they didn't know what it was," Draco gazed down the corridor, jaw muscles clenching.

"So?"

"He's more determined than ever," Draco said. "It's about winning. Even if nothing happens, even if I don't end up a laughingstock, he needs to know he could beat me."

"I just don't understand why it's like this," Harry was frustrated. "I just want to live my life, why am I caught up in Slytherin's political drama?"

"It's just how it works," Draco growled.

"We have to figure out how to get away from him," Harry leaned over to force Draco to look at him. "I'm not going to spend the next semester paranoid that Blaise Zabini is going to show up around every corner."

"The manor is still under construction," Draco looked at Harry and his expression finally softened.

"They rebuilt Hogwarts in three months. Why is your house taking so long?" Harry tossed his hands up in disbelief.

"Craftsmanship," Draco said proudly. "The fixtures and woodwork are handmade and imported. The designer insisted."

"Wanker," Harry shook his head in disgust.

"What about you?" Draco snapped his fingers as though he'd had an epiphany. "Don't you have a house in London?"

“Yes," Harry was reluctant. "But I haven't been back since the war. I mostly just let Ron and Hermione use it when they do their weekends away."

"Maybe it's time."

"I don’t know,” Harry was reluctant. Returning to twelve Grimmauld Place didn’t sound appealing. He knew it would drag up sorrows he was resolutely trying to put behind him. How could he not grieve for lost friends?

“If I can face my house, you can face yours,” Draco insisted. Harry reluctantly agreed.

That Thursday they both found themselves with a free afternoon and decided spontaneously to visit the former Black family home. They had known better than to plan ahead, since Blaise Zabini seemed to intercept them at every turn. But a last minute change of plans had the potential to throw him off of their trail.

Harry was late, as usual. Draco had sent up the green spark, letting him know he was at the breezeway, waiting in his usual fashion for his disorganized boyfriend to clatter down the stairs and run breathlessly to their meeting location. Harry really did try to be on time, but for some reason something always got in the way. This time it was his shoes, which had gone missing in his messy room. He was kicking through a pile of laundry, wondering how he could have lost them when the green spark showed up and flickered insistently before his eyes. He threw himself to the floor and dug under his bed, wondering if they’d gotten knocked out of reach. Eventually he gave up and opted for his heavier winter boots, which were probably a better choice anyway, given the slush outside.

He laced up, grabbed his coat, and barrelled towards the rendezvous point. He keep his eyes open for signs of Blaise, but the corridors were mostly deserted. He ran past the Great Hall and down a side hallway towards the exit to the breezeway path.

“Potter!”

Harry screeched to a halt and swung around. Who had called his name?

“I mean Harry,” Draco stepped out of a narrow alcove with a tense smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked. “I thought you’d be outside by now.”

“I was,” Draco said, his eyebrows elevated and his eyes wide with sincerity. “I had to come back in because I forgot my coat.”

Harry frowned. Something wasn’t right. Draco looked okay, not a hair out of place. His gray eyes flicked nervously to the side. Suddenly Harry realized what was wrong.

“Why are you wearing your robe?” Harry wondered. He would stick out like a sore thumb in London.

“I,” Draco looked down and thought for a moment. “I just came from class.” Suddenly he stepped up close to Harry and awkwardly slipped his arms around his waist. “I was looking for you,” he said.

Everything felt wrong. Harry’s hair stood up on the back of his neck as something else struck him. Draco’s voice was wrong. He typically either spoke in languid, relaxed, almost bored tones, or in sharp, direct, authoritative ones. Right now he spoke with neither. He was nervous, stiff, and his voice just sounded wrong.

“Come here,” Draco clumsily moved his face towards Harry’s.

Harry leaned back reflexively. “I don’t--”

“What in bloody hell is going on?”

Harry shoved the blond boy away and turned towards the familiar voice. At the end of the corridor Draco Malfoy stood seething with rage, dressed for a trip to London. He strode forward, hands clenched into fists, mouth set for a blistering tirade. He breezed past Harry and reached out, snatching the other Draco in both hands and slamming him into the stone wall.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Zabini?” he spat.

“Zabini?” Harry felt stupid for not figuring it out sooner. “Polyjuice!”

“Who is with you?” Draco growled, holding the impostor firmly and casting about for witnesses. “Come out!”

“Relax, Malfoy,” Pansy stepped out of the shadows with a seventh year Slytherin girl by her side. “Hello, Potter,” she said sweetly, her eyes flicking up and down the length of Harry’s body.

“Really, Pansy? You, too?” Draco looked disgusted. The impostor squirmed in his grasp and tried to free himself.

“I’m just here for the show Blaise promised me,” Pansy shrugged disinterestedly. “I don’t really care either way, but I am curious to know what the truth is.”

“Let go of me,” the other Draco wasn’t even trying to act anymore. Blaise’s voice issued from the pale, blond boy’s face. Harry marveled at the sight of two Dracos locked in a standoff.

“You’re obsessed, Zabini. You need to let it go,” the real Draco’s voice was sharp and commanding. “This pathetic ambition of yours has taken over your life. When word gets out about how far you went to live out your sick fantasy--”

“Sick fantasy?” the fake Draco demanded. “It’s not me that has the problem, you’re the one--”

“You’re mad!” the real Draco cut him off with a shake. “I came inside and saw you with your arms around Potter. Something he looked none too pleased with, I might add. And you’re saying this is about me?” He laughed derisively, “Pansy, does this make any sense to you at all?”

“Not really,” Pansy checked her fingernails and looked bored.

“Who here do you think has the problem?” Draco stood next to his doppelganger, which looked even more bizarre to Harry.

“Well,” Pansy dropped her hand to her hip and eyed Draco seductively, “I know what you like, Malfoy,” she turned her attention back to Harry, “And I can figure out quickly where you stand,” she added.

Harry’s hair stood up on the back of his neck again. He looked to the two Dracos for help, but both were watching Pansy to see what she would do. The seventh year Slytherin girl just looked confused.

Pansy slithered over to Harry and slipped her hand around his neck. She wiggled her hips and pressed up against him. She pulled him down to her height and forcefully kissed him, mouth agape and tongue reaching. Harry awkwardly put his hands on her hips and kissed her back as well as he could, playing defense against her offensive maneuver. Finally she released him with a messy slurp and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

“Mm,” she smiled sensuously. “Sorry, Blaise, but you’re dead wrong on this one.”

The false Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve proven nothing, you fucking slag.”

“Ouchie, Zabini,” Pansy’s eyes flashed threateningly. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to make an enemy of me.”

“Pansy,” the false Draco pled. Just then the forelock of his hair darkened and curled. His complexion darkened in bits and blotches. “Bollocks,” he stared down at his hands as the skin lost its ivory translucence. “It doesn’t last long, does it?”

The real Draco released him with a look of disgust. “I don’t suppose you’ll take a lesson from this,” he said sharply. “Lose your obsession with me. Move on with your life, such that it is.”

“Fat chance,” the fake Draco was now a strange multi-ethnic patchwork. “I’ll prove to everyone that you two are queers, you’ll see.”

“Pansy, will you please take him back to the dungeons?” Draco asked with a nuanced tone that suggested Blaise was touched in the head and needed rest. Harry was impressed with how well he conveyed the message.

“Sure thing, lover,” Pansy reached for Blaise and slipped her arm around his shoulder. “Come on, sweet baby, let’s get you home,” she cast a wink over her shoulder, then blew a kiss at Harry.

Draco and Harry watched in wonder as the two girls led the awkwardly transitioning boy down the corridor towards Slytherin house. Pansy cooed in condescending baby talk the whole way, and the seventh year girl giggled. Harry finally exhaled and fell against the wall in relief.

“Draco I swear,” he said weakly. “I knew something was wrong. I wouldn’t have let him kiss me.”

“I know,” Draco’s eyes were distant, lost in thought. “Although I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had,” he added, snapping back to the present and offering a small smile. “He’s a handsome devil.”


	12. Chapter 12

Harry was getting more and more agitated by Blaise's pursuit, and that worried Draco in a private part of his mind that he would never share. He didn't want Harry to know he was worried, certainly not that he was worried about Harry himself.

Draco wasn't an insecure man, he told himself. He was confident and self-assured. He knew he was handsome, he knew he had panache, and he knew Harry had eyes for no one else. But he worried.

Because deep down inside he knew it was a lie. He was insecure. Terribly insecure. He knew his past, he hadn't forgotten the terrible things he'd done. He remembered every jibe and cutting remark. He remembered the sharp pain he used to feel in his stomach after a spar with Potter and his friends. For years he blamed them for the discomfort, believing they deserved to be treated poorly for making him feel bad.

He remembered the terror of being marked at the Dark Lord's command. He remembered the impotent rage of being sent to do dangerous, deadly tasks, knowing his parents' lives were on the line. He remembered seeing Saint Potter, who he thought was so blissfully unaware of how terrible things were, and wishing he could crush him under his boot heel.

And at the same time he remembered wishing he could tell Potter. While many of their peers' families had been affected by Lord Voldemort, only Harry shared a closer connection and faced a greater threat than Draco himself. Even as he fought Potter, he wished he could tell him what was happening to him.

Harry had never been intimidated by Draco. He had never cowered, obeyed, or rolled over. And when Harry looked at him, he'd always had the sense that he saw Draco in a way no one else did. Honestly, penetratingly, unswayed by his bravado, by the posturing and smoke and mirrors he'd come to rely on to hide his fears.

He remembered kneeling before Harry at Malfoy Manor, his face a mangled mess of a curse, looking into his eyes and knowing he wouldn't hand him over to the Dark Lord. He remembered taking aim in the Room of Hidden Things, his friends at his elbows, urging him to end Saint Potter's life, knowing he would miss if he even fired at all.

He remembered Harry pulling him to safety from the Fiendfyre, the last person in Hogwarts who should have saved him, but somehow also the only person who would. He remembered looking up and seeing Harry as the flames pursued him, desperate for help but unable to ask. Harry hadn’t hesitated and he didn't need to be asked. And that changed everything.

So now, as Draco and Harry Apparated in an alley in Ilsington, he worried. He knew Harry hadn't been fooled by Blaise's polyjuice ruse. But when he'd entered the corridor and spotted another man, albeit himself, with his arms around Potter, his blood had scalded like fire. He liked to tell himself that he wasn't the jealous type, but that wasn't true, either. The idea of Harry getting burned out on Slytherin drama and turning to someone else for companionship made his head feel tight and his breath short. He couldn't let that happen. He needed to figure out how to put a stop to Blaise's ploy, at least until Harry was ready to go public with their relationship.

"You're quiet," Harry remarked. A light snow was fluttering down around them and the ground sparkled like sugar in the slanted morning light.

"Just thinking," Draco tried to relax his expression.

"About what?" Harry was in no hurry to enter the house.

"About the last time we tried to come here," Draco tipped his head back and watched the snow fall from the distant infinity of the sky.

They had postponed their visit after the Polyjuice incident. Today was Draco's fourth tattoo removal session and they had decided to take a quick detour to the former home of Sirius Black on the way.

"That explains your mood," Harry shuffled his feet, pushing piles of slush around with his boots.

"Don't worry about it," Draco gestured for Harry to lead the way. "Let's see this house of yours."

Draco had to admit that the property was quite cleverly hidden, and quite nice from the outside. But as they entered and his nose was assaulted by the odors of dust and dampness, he prepared to revise his opinion downward. A large hole had been cut into the wall that towered over the foyer, directly beyond a dusty, rusting grand chandelier.

"What in bloody blazes happened there?" He pointed, distressed by the irregular edges of the wall and visible raw wood and pipes beyond.

Harry ran his hand through his hair ruefully. "There was a portrait there of Sirius's mother, Walburga Black. She shouted at guests if they weren't purebloods. It was permanently attached to the wall so Ron and George cut it down this summer."

A realization struck Draco. "Walburga? She was my great aunt," he said wonderingly. He and Harry exchanged a surprised look. "My mother shunned Sirius, she never spoke of him. But they were cousins. I don't know why I forgot."

"I didn't make the connection, either," Harry said wonderingly. "You know he was my godfather, don't you? I guess he was your second cousin? Once removed? I'm not sure how it works."

"I suppose so," Draco thought hard. "Mother shunned anyone who she thought was a blood traitor. I just never thought about it."

The two boys looked up at the ragged hole in the wall and pondered privately. Draco wondered what the Weasleys had done with his great aunt's portrait, although not with any family loyalty. He just wondered what one would do with a painting that screeched about blood purity.

He hadn't fully given up his notions of blood purity, of course. He'd come remarkably far, but he knew he still harbored bigoted opinions about muggles entering the wizard world. He knew the ideal mindset would be to accept everyone and anyone, but he wasn't quite there.

Gone were his notions of blood traitors, that had gone the way of Voldemort when the Dark Lord’s bizarre sense of loyalty and punishment showed little value in the protection of purity. And he supposed he could get over his distrust of half-bloods. After all, at least they came from some kind of wizard lineage. But mudbloods, that was the hardest one.

Logically he knew that the wizarding world had benefited greatly from talented mudbloods. Privately he had to admit to himself that Hermione Granger was highly skilled and very likely would do something worthy of the history books someday. Not that he'd ever say that to her face. He knew Harry was only a half-blood, and Harry was already an incredibly powerful wizard, one who had certainly earned a place in the history books by merit and skill, not just by his scar.

But in general he still couldn't shake the idea that purebloods were better. Sure, muggles might produce the occasional highly-skilled wizard or witch once in a while, but purebloods were born into greatness far more often. That had to count for something, some endorsement of the value of purity.

It was a cognitive dissonance he was increasingly uncomfortable with. It was difficult to use muggle technology and enjoy the London sights and still maintain the belief that they were inferior stock. It was difficult to lie with Harry Potter and imagine limiting himself to just pureblood partners. It was difficult to accept a Christmas gift from Granger and think of her as a mudblood.

He stared up at the hole in the wall and imagined Harry visiting this house with his Gryffindor friends, with the shrill, venomous voice of his great aunt decrying their lineage. He rather thought the hole was an improvement.

"Ron and George cleared out a lot of stuff over the summer," Harry led Draco to the staircase and pointed up. "This wall used to hold a collection of shrunken elf heads," he noted. "And when Ron and Hermione visit on the weekends they usually try to do a bit of cleaning up. It looks better than it used to."

Draco looked around wonderingly. It used to look worse? Everywhere he directed his eyes, he saw disrepair and decay. Wallpaper was peeling, floor boards were uneven, upholstery was faded and worn. The house could be grand again, but it would take an investment of money and effort. And if Harry didn't want to live here, what would be the point?

Harry gave Draco a tour, starting with the first floor and leading all the way up to the fourth. He became more withdrawn with every room, his eyes clouded with bleak memories. Draco’s tension rose as Harry grew distant. Every bit of pain was tied to him by the invisible spider silk threads of his bloodline. The sorrow that enveloped Harry was fed straight from Draco’s ancestry. He chewed his lip nervously as a remote fear he’d kept repressed these past months threatened to bubble to the surface.

Harry led Draco down to the first floor and into the drawing room. The furniture here appeared recently used, and the windows that looked out onto the road were clean. Near the ceiling of the left wall was a long rail with rings and drapery hooks. Harry regarded it thoughtfully for a moment, then cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"There used to be a tapestry here," he said hesitantly. "I guess they took it down. It showed the Black family tree."

"My mother?" Draco asked softly.

"I suppose so," Harry nodded.

“Me?” his voice was barely audible.

Harry nodded. "And Bellatrix, and Sirius and Regulus, too, and everyone. Sirius was scorched from the fabric, though. They scorched the ones they shunned." He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "They probably put it in the attic." His eyes were fixed on the blank wall, as though unable to look at Draco directly. "It's yours if you want it," he said, "It's your family."

Draco's heart squeezed painfully. He shook his head and swallowed hard. He looked up at the wall angrily and shook his head more emphatically. "No they're not," he said firmly, his voice rough. "That's not my family."

"They're your relations," Harry corrected himself, still averting his eyes. “You’re on the bloody tapestry.”

"Harry," Draco tried to will the other boy to look at him. He balled his fists and took a deep breath. "Harry, I'm not one of them. Not anymore. I have no family."

Harry didn't speak.

"'I’ve left the family. My mother would shun me, if she were here. They would scorch me off of the tapestry," Draco's voice cracked pleadingly, his stomach knotted with fear. "Sirius left the family and you loved him like a father. I'm like him, right?"

His heart was pounding. Harry wouldn't look at him. He felt exposed, like all of the history that went before, that they'd mutually looked past until now, was out in the open and ugly in the light.

"I haven't been here since the war," Harry said in a near-whisper. "This place has seen more hate than any home should." He stared up at the wall as though he could still see the tapestry there. "They killed one of their own. Bellatrix was his cousin and she murdered him. Your father was there."

Draco's scalp felt too tight. "I wasn't there," he said, his voice shaking.

Harry nodded, looking down at his hands. "I thought maybe he would have told you."

"No," Draco's voice was a barely audible croak. "He was barely speaking to me at that point. He only spoke of the Dark Lord. About what I could do for the family, how I could prove their loyalty." He cleared his throat but it didn't help, "By then I was no more than a bartering chip."

Harry nodded again. He took a breath and turned his gaze even further away, towards window and the road beyond. "We had to abandon the house when the Death Eaters came. That's when I decided not to come back."

"They never brought me here," Draco said hurriedly. "I've never been here. They never told me about it."

Harry was silent. His thoughts were distant, and Draco wasn’t even sure he was listening.

"Harry," Draco's stomach twisted and churned. "I wasn't here. They kept me at the manor unless they needed me. I was chattel, even to my own parents."

He felt panic coalescing in his chest. It was finally coming out. It was inevitable. How could they not hold it up to the light and scrutinize it eventually? It was foolish to think they would never have to think about it, talk about it, and eventually see the depth and breadth of their incompatibility.

The thought pained him. They couldn't be incompatible. All of the ugliness from before, it had to be forgivable, somehow. The problem was, Harry didn't need to be forgiven. All of the wrongs were Draco's, and they both knew it. And now he feared Harry was coming to his senses and remembering that.

He couldn't catch his breath. "I wasn't part of that, I swear," he said weakly. "I didn't want the Mark. I never killed anyone. I was scared all of the time. I never thought I would survive the war. I thought I would die there, surrounded by those people. My parents would have let me die." He was rambling uncontrollably, his mouth dry and his palms sweating. "I never wanted to kill you. I never wanted you dead. I was never like them. I'm not like them. Harry," he reached out and touched the other boy's shoulder, and his hand trembled despite his effort to steady it. Harry saw the tremble and turned, bewilderment in his eyes.

"Draco," he caught Draco's arm and drew him in. "It's okay. What's wrong?"

Draco allowed himself to be pulled into his embrace and buried his face in Harry's neck. His insecurities were boiling over like a tea kettle left on the fire too long. "Don't leave me," his voice came out as a whimper. "I'm not like them, not anymore. Please don't leave me." He felt his knees weaken

"Draco," Harry struggled to hold the other boy upright.

Draco was sliding and helpless to stop his descent. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees, clutching Harry's legs and burying his face in his stomach.

"Don't leave me, I'm not like them," he whispered desperately.

Harry grappled with Draco's grip and knelt before him. He seized Draco's face in his hands to stop his rambling.

"Why would I leave you?" he asked wonderingly.

"All of this," Draco cast his eyes anxiously around the room. "I'm part of this. You've suffered so much and I'm part of it. I don't deserve your forgiveness but if I could go back and do it over I swear--"

"I've already forgiven you," Harry said seriously. "I didn't forget everything and just get my memory back now."

"But I'm a Death Eater," the words caught in Draco's throat. He could feel the tattoo on his arm, faded but still visible. Even when it was completely gone the past would remain unchanged.

"You never were," Harry insisted. "Not in your heart. I've always known that, even before we became friends."

Draco's eyes welled up and he blinked rapidly to keep them from spilling over.

"I know you," Harry said firmly. "I've known you for eight years. I know all about you. I've seen the best and worst in you."

"That's what scares me," Draco whispered, his throat dry.

"It shouldn't," Harry smiled warmly. "Because I know you and I'm still here."

Draco went still. His heart stopped pounding and his chest stopped heaving for breath. He shook his head wonderingly, "Why?"

"Because what I've seen that's good outweighs what I've seen that's bad," Harry said as though it should be obvious.

Draco's shoulders dropped and he collapsed into Harry's arms. Harry held him gently and rocked on his knees as Draco regained his composure.

"I've been a spoiled twat," Draco mumbled into Harry's shoulder. "I've been a prat. I've been a bully. I've been a thug. I've been a cheat. I've been a liar."

"And now you're my boyfriend," Harry said into his platinum hair. "Funny how it worked out that way."

"I'm sorry," Draco shook his head, his face still buried in Harry's collar.

"For what?"

"For everything. Every second of it," Draco said vehemently.

"I'm sorry, too," Harry held him close. "Let's promise to be good to each other from now on."

"I promise," Draco squeezed Harry with all of his might.

"Ack!" Harry struggled to free himself.

"You know," Draco released him and sat back on his heels, his eyes still damp with gratitude. "We could really show Walburga and her old fashioned rules."

"How's that?" Harry seemed to know where Draco was going.

"We could shag in every room of this house," Draco meant for his suggestion to sound confident and seductive, but his voice was still weak with anxiety. "Her great nephew and a blood traitor, it would be scandalous."

Harry laughed and his eyes crinkled up at the corners. His pensive sorrow was stowed away for the moment. He looked up at the mantle clock,"What time is your appointment?"

"Not for another hour," Draco checked, too. "If you think you could get in the mood, we have time for at least the master bedroom."

"I'll show you the way," Harry jumped up and ran from the room. Draco’s heart flooded with relief as he pursued the other boy up the stairs.

An hour later the two boys entered the tattoo removal office, relaxed and satisfied. There were two other clients in the waiting room as they signed in, each with a friend. It was surprising to see anyone else there, and they felt self conscious as they sat and waited to be called.

Draco studied the other clients. One was a young girl with her mother. She had stars tattooed around her wrists and down the back of both hands. The other one was a young man and what appeared to be his girlfriend. He had a wedding band tattooed on his finger and she did not. Her face was grim, as though she smelled something unpleasant.

He stretched his arm up and over Harry's shoulder, a casually affectionate gesture. Harry sat up straight in surprise, then glanced across the waiting area to see if the other clients had noticed. They were too absorbed in their own business to bother with Draco's maneuver. Harry slowly reached across and took Draco's other hand in his. Draco was privately proud of Harry for responding with so little hesitation. He knew they were rapidly approaching a time when they would have to go public in order to prevent Blaise Zabini from doing it for them. But he'd made a promise not to breathe a word of it until Harry was ready. And he would honor that promise until the end.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry felt terrible for the misunderstanding at Grimmauld Place. He had let the heavy sorrow of the past overwhelm him and take his mind to dark places. He hadn’t noticed Draco’s growing panic until he broke down, and Harry felt guilty for allowing that to happen. On the one hand he knew they probably needed to talk about it at some point, to confront what couldn’t be denied. On the other hand, he had hoped naively that they could just push it aside forever, which wasn’t realistic.

Draco was filled with remorse, Harry realized. It wasn’t just that he rejected his family’s ways, and by extension his own ways. He knew now that Draco grappled with extraordinary guilt whenever he was confronted with the past. Harry was sincere when he said he forgave Draco for his history, partly because he knew he had participated in mutual antagonism for years. He really meant it when he said he had seen the good in the other boy and truly believed it outweighed the bad. But he understood now that Draco wasn’t so sure. A part of him believed he was lost, a dark soul who could never repent enough for his sins.

The following weekend they stole away to the House of Black again, and this time christened the rest of the rooms. They did a bit of tidying up and discussed whether Harry wanted to keep the house or sell it. Harry wasn't ready to let it go. They agreed that it made a perfectly good refuge, especially as it was warded to keep uninvited guests like Blaise out. 

One afternoon in early February they lay sprawled on the bed in Regulus’ former bedroom, having cleared out the previous tenant’s possessions and then made themselves comfortable in the newly revised space. Harry’s head was filled with thoughts of the Black family, a bit conflicted over the decision to clear their remaining influence on the space. He wondered whether Draco was similarly conflicted, whether he had thoughts about family or relations or blood lines while they cleaned and then shagged.

“Draco,” he started hesitantly, gazing up at the ceiling and running his hand over the other boy’s smooth, supple arm.

“Hm,” Draco’s head was nestled in the crook of Harry’s arm, his blond hair catching in the stubble on Harry’s chin.

“Does it bother you at all to remove the Black family’s heirlooms from the house?” he kept his voice neutral, so Draco wouldn’t think he was implying that it should.

“No,” the other boy didn’t hesitate. “Their time is done. The remaining family lives out in pureblood continental enclaves. They’ll fade into obscurity, and that’s probably for the best.”

“You don’t think any of them would want to preserve this history?”

“They don’t think about much other than their own needs,” Draco said flatly, absentmindedly tracing the lines of Harry’s strong abdominal muscles. “They would care if this house increased their influence. But since it doesn’t, they don’t.”

“You think they’re all so selfish?”

“Dark families usually are,” Draco yawned and nestled his head deeper into Harry’s shoulder. Harry suspected he didn’t want to discuss it. But he was going somewhere with this.

“And Dark families are all the same, all the way through?”

“Pretty much,” Draco traced his finger around Harry’s navel. “They’ve all passed through Malfoy Manor over the years at one point or another. I haven’t found them terribly redeemable, individually or on the whole.”

“Then how do you explain yourself?” Harry’s heart was pounding, knowing he was treading in dangerous waters. “You’re a Black and a Malfoy, the descendant of two Dark families.”

“Maybe I’m not that different after all,” Draco’s hand went still. “They say a tiger can’t change its stripes. Maybe I’m just fooling myself.”

“Are you fooling me?” Harry tipped Draco’s chin up so he could look him in the eyes.

“Not intentionally,” Draco’s gray eyes were dull and flat. Harry regretted taking the shine out of them, but he felt it was necessary. “But blood is notoriously thick,” Draco added.

“I think you’re wrong,” Harry softly came to his point. “I think you are different. I don’t think blood matters that much.”

“There’s blood,” Draco propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at Harry. “And there’s influence. I grew up with it. It’s normal for me. Not being a wretched prat is abnormal for me.”

“I think a tiger can change its stripes,” Harry shook his head insistently. “Or rather, your stripes aren’t the shape you think they are.”

“Do we have to talk about this?” Draco sounded annoyed.

“Yes,” Harry curled his arms around the other boy to try to take the edge off of the conversation. “I think this house affects you, makes you feel like the descent into darkness is inevitable and irreversible. I think it frightens you.”

“So what,” Draco averted his eyes.

“So maybe I want to keep the house. And maybe I want you to be part of whatever portion of my life I lead here,” Harry said. “I want you to be the same Draco whether we’re here or anywhere else.”

“Maybe this is the only place where you can see how pointless it is for me to pretend I’m anything other than what I am,” Draco’s voice was bitter. Harry didn’t like it, it was so unlike him these days.

“I don’t believe that,” Harry insisted.

The boys were quiet, each thinking his own thoughts. Draco remained propped up on his elbow, leaving a cool spot where he had been nestled only a moment ago.

“Do you know what a Patronus charm is?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Yes,” Draco’s face was stoic.

“Have you ever cast one?”

“Of course not.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“Of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be devoured alive by maggots,” Draco said bluntly. “Dark wizards can’t cast a Patronus, corporeal or otherwise.”

“Professor Snape could,” Harry had anticipated this answer.

“He was different.”

“So are you,” Harry reminded him.

“Maybe so, but the spell is only for the pure-hearted, which I have never been, Death Eater or not,” Draco rolled over and sat on the edge of his bed. “Where are my trousers?”

“Don’t be cross,” Harry reached out and grasped Draco’s arm. Draco turned and shot him an angry glare. “Don’t you hear what I’m saying? I think you are pure of heart. I think you could cast a Patronus if you wanted to.”

“Why would I want to?” Draco’s expression was unchanged.

“To prove to yourself that you can,” Harry smiled lopsidedly. “So you can stop blaming yourself for the ways of your ancestors.” He looked away and swallowed hard, “So I can stop worrying that your worries will come between us.”

Draco’s glare evaporated. “Harry,” he said pleadingly. “You’re not really worried about that, are you?”

“Well yeah,” Harry couldn’t keep the sadness out of his voice. “How can I not worry about it when you seem to dwell on it every time we come here?”

“I’m not leaving you, not ever,” Draco said vehemently. He gave up his search for his discarded clothing and rolled back over into Harry’s arms. “If anything, I’m worried you’re going to leave me.”

“But that’s what I mean,” Harry pushed Draco’s tousled hair back from his forehead. “You’re worried that there’s a darkness in you that will eventually drive me away. I need you to know that that’s not true. I need you to let that thought go.”

Draco bumped Harry’s forehead with his own and sighed. “I don’t know how to let it go.”

“Cast a Patronus,” Harry said. “I know you can. And when you do, you’ll know that blood isn’t as thick as you think it is.”

Draco was reluctant but Harry was patient. They continued attending classes, sneaking in a kiss or a touch here and there, dodging Blaise Zabini, playing quidditch matches, attending to their apprenticeships, and preparing for the upcoming N.E.W.T. exams. And whenever possible they stole away to Grimmauld Place for the chance to be alone together. Their lives were becoming less and less about school, and more and more about each other and the joined life that would carry them beyond graduation into the adult wizarding world. Harry didn’t bring the Patronus up every time, but whenever it was relevant he felt out Draco’s receptiveness to the idea.

Draco had his fifth laser treatment during that time, and amazingly the work on the outline of the snake was done. The doctor estimated two more sessions for the slightly more resistant heavily inked areas in the skull shading, and then he would be completely tattoo-free. The shape of the Dark Mark was so altered by the removal of the snake that Draco no longer felt it necessary to cover it with fitted sleeves beneath his robe. The sense of being near the end was exciting, and that may have been why his resolve cracked and he agreed to hear Harry out.

“Casting a Patronus charm depends more on your state of mind than your wand movement,” Harry’s hands were busy heating water for tea. “So you don’t spend all of your time practicing swishes and swoops and flicks, you spend it trying to find your focus.”

“What do you focus on?” Draco was shuffling through the pantry, looking for biscuits to accompany their tea. It appeared as though Ron and Hermione had emptied the place out.

“The happiest moment of your life,” Harry said simply, stowing his wand as the water came to a rolling boil. He poured it into the teapot to let it steep. “Your Patronus comes from the purest happiness you’ve ever known.”

“I haven’t known much happiness,” Draco said flatly as he knelt down and dug through a box of random groceries.

“That’s not true,” Harry corrected him. “That’s what you tend to believe, but you’ve known happiness in your life, too.”

“I suppose,” Draco mused. “Aha, found something. Gingersnaps? Nice one, Weasley.”

“It’s commonly thought that the Patronus goes wrong when someone who is incapable of love tries to summon one,” Harry poured two cups of tea and retrieved the box of biscuits from Draco’s grip.

“They’re probably stale,” Draco said distastefully.

“Next time we’ll bring our own,” Harry gestured for the other boy to sit. “Besides, they all taste the same when they’re dunked.”

“You dunk gingersnaps?” Draco looked as though he would be sick.

Harry grinned. “Safe to say this won’t be your Patronus moment,” he seized a biscuit with a flourish and dunked it exuberantly. Draco buried his face comically in his hands.

Spending more time away together felt like a test. They were getting to know each other with an intimacy that couldn’t stay on its best behavior for long. Harry’s rough edges became visible, and Draco’s fastidiousness made itself apparent. But if it was a test, they were passing it quite handily. It was a secret relief for both boys to know that their rapport extended beyond the bedroom. As the shiny newness of their relationship wore off with time, the friendship bond they formed would be more important than ever.

They chose the Dining Room for practice, it being the largest room in the house with the most space to maneuver. Draco was nervous, visions of backfiring spells and an agonizing death coloring his mood. Harry continued to be patient, reassuring the other boy that he’d taught this spell many times before and was confident that Draco would be successful.

“Expecto Patronum,” Harry said firmly, demonstrating his grip on his wand.

“Expecto Patronum,” Draco repeated, mimicking the grip. He was an excellent student, as Harry knew he would be. Draco had always performed at the top of their class, mastering advanced spells with an ease most students envied. His pronunciation was spot-on, his motion was fine, it was his mind that stood between him and a successful casting.

“Focus,” Harry urged. “Find the happiest moment in your life and draw on it.”

“I am,” Draco’s brow was furrowed, looking anything but happy. He dropped his wand and looked at Harry. “Show me. Do it for real.”

"You've never seen one?" Harry was surprised.

"Where would I have seen one?" Draco gestured broadly as though encompassing the house and its entire lineage.

"Right," Harry took a breath and focused his mind. He thought about all of the love he had known in his life, his mother's sacrifice, his friends, the endless possibilities of the life that lay before him, and the boy who helped him understand what love truly means.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry called, extending his wand. A brilliant blue energy whisped from the tip and grew, spiraling and winding across the long dining room. The energy coalesced atop the table and solidified in the figure of an antlered deer, tall and proud and shifting in glowing blue light.

Draco's jaw was slack and his eyes were wide. His typical air of superiority, often a brave front, had faltered completely. The blue glare of the Patronus reflected in his eyes as the stag lifted its head and gazed off into an unknown distance.

Harry released the Patronus and it dissipated quickly, dissolving into a soft blue mist. Draco seemed to snap back to the present, and he swiveled his head around and searched for remnants of the majestic animal.

"That was it?" He whispered hoarsely. "That's what you want me to do?"

"You can do it," Harry insisted. "Think of a moment in your life when you were at your happiest. Think of a time when your heart was so full of love that you thought it would burst. Or a time when someone loved you more than you thought possible. I sometimes think of my parents, how much they loved me. Your mother loved you, no matter what it seemed like at the end. Was there ever a time when your mother's love filled you up?"

"No," Draco snorted. He closed his eyes and concentrated. "Just be quiet for a moment."

Harry suspended his breath. He was confident that Draco could do it. The question was whether he was confident in himself.

Draco's breathing was calm and controlled. His brow furrowed with concentration and Harry swallowed the advice to relax. Draco needed to find a place in his mind where the groove between his eyebrows had no need to exist.

A few moments passed and gradually the groove smoothed out and disappeared. His expression lifted and a smile flickered for a brief instant across his lips. He opened his eyes and was the picture of enlightenment. Harry was rendered breathless by the transformation. Draco lifted his wand and pointed confidently.

"Expecto Patronum!" He uttered. For a millisecond nothing happened and Harry's heart paused fearfully. Then an electric blue mist poured out of his wand and filled the dining room with pale radiance. It surged in waves and grew in size, coalescing in the space between the table and the chandelier. It took on a corporeal form, a falcon with full, extended wings and the forward thrust head of a hunter. It wheeled on one wingtip and soared back towards them before dissolving in whisps and threads of blue smoke.

They were silent as the spell dissipated completely. Draco's expression was serene, his eyes distant, his wand hand still hovering mid-air. Harry was reluctant to break the silence.

"I did it," Draco said in amazement. "That was it, right?"

"That was it," Harry beamed proudly. "Your spirit animal is a falcon."

"I was thinking about my happiest moments, and I felt it rise up inside of me," Draco mused. "And when I felt that, all of the fear that I couldn't or that it would destroy me went away. And then it happened."

"I knew you could," Harry grinned. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Yes yes, you're brilliant," Draco rolled his eyes but his mouth was amused.

"Dumbledore said that the Patronus could only be cast by those who were capable of love. He believed love was the antidote to darkness," Harry reached out tentatively and took Draco's hand. "And since you're capable of love, it stood to reason that you could do it."

Draco's eyes softened. He drew Harry in to him and leaned his forehead against his. "You were right," he looked into Harry's eyes. "I love you."

Harry's heart soared. "I love you, too."

"Do you want to know what my happiest moment was?" Draco slipped his other hand around Harry's waist.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Harry reassured him.

"It was just last spring," Draco said, stroking his thumb down the small of Harry's back. "Inside the Room of Requirement. I thought I was about to die. Vincent was already gone. I knew I deserved it but I wasn't ready. I looked up and you were there, reaching for me. You saved my life when I didn't deserve to be saved. You didn't ask for anything, you just did it. That is the happiest moment of my life."

Harry couldn't speak. He nodded and smiled, words completely lost. Finally he gathered his composure enough to find his voice. "Coming back for you was the best decision I ever made."

"I agree," Draco smiled.


	14. Chapter 14

Spring was coming and the air at Hogwarts was alive with anticipation of the upcoming standardized tests. O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s were just around the corner, it seemed. The four houses broke into competitive study groups, which ran practice exams against each other, proctored by prefects. Harry's Gryffindor group was in the lead for N.E.W.T takers, thanks mostly to Granger's diligence. Draco's Slytherin group was second, mostly due to his own efforts. No thanks at all to Pansy, who preferred to use the group study time to grope him under the table.

Blaise was in a different group with a set of seventh-years, an arrangement that sat poorly with him. Being grouped with younger housemates and ranking sixth did nothing to raise his standing within Slytherin house. He had developed a reputation for wild accusations and a vivid imagination, as underclassmen had shared stories of his single-minded pursuit of Draco Malfoy.

Between study sessions and practice exams Draco and Harry escaped to the house on Grimmauld Place. They could be alone and enjoy a quiet calm together not typically enjoyed at Hogwarts. The house offered an additional advantage in that the extra privacy allowed them the liberty to experiment more freely in the bedroom. They tried new positions, different locations, they tied each other up, they switched roles. It was thrilling and erotic and they enjoyed it immensely.

One Sunday evening they lay sprawled across a bed on the second floor after a particularly energetic session. Harry lay on his stomach with his head on the foot rail while Draco lay on his back the other way with his head on the pillow, tracing languid circles on Harry's back with his fingertips.

"I've been thinking," he said hesitantly, choosing his words carefully. "Remember when Zabini polyjuiced himself and tried to make a move on you?"

"Of course," Harry said sleepily, not budging an inch.

"I keep thinking about that image," Draco said softly. "You and me. Like seeing you and me together, but outside of me."

Harry rolled over and peered over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"And I was just thinking," Draco put a little pressure into his stroking, eliciting a grateful groan from the other boy. "Polyjuice."

"What about it?"

"What would it be like," Draco paused, "if you and I, you know."

"What?" Harry peered over his shoulder again. "Polyjuiced each other?"

"I don't know," Draco waved his hand with a dismissive air he hoped was convincing. "Just to see what it's like."

"You in my body and me in yours?" Harry laid back down and pondered the idea. "You really think that would be a turn on?"

"You don't?"

"I don't know. I never thought about it before," Harry murmured. "Have you ever tasted polyjuice potion? It's horrid. I can't imagine feeling in the mood for a shag after drinking it."

"Well if you don't want to," Draco tried to conceal the disappointment in his voice.

"I didn't say that," Harry rolled over onto his side and stroked Draco's bare stomach.

Draco smiled as he perked up again at Harry's touch. He guided his hand down and stroked with him.

"You're insatiable today," Harry marveled.

"Have I worn you out?" Draco purred alluringly.

"Of course not," Harry sat up and crawled to the head of the bed. He stretched his athletic body over Draco's and lowered himself sensuously. They kissed long and deep, their hands moving in familiar synchronicity.

"Imagine seeing yourself from my eyes," Draco whispered as they moved in rhythm together. "It would be amazing."

"Yeah," Harry groaned as Draco pushed into him. "We have to try it."

They went to work right away on the month-long brew. They had a minor setback when they tried to use the Room of Requirement to brew it, but realized the cauldron would disappear whenever the room reset itself. The house on Grimmauld Place was an obvious choice, but Ron and Hermione frequently stayed there when they visited London. The trick was concealing it so they wouldn't discover the familiar concoction.

Ultimately they decided to hide it up in the attic where no one was likely to go. Harry purloined the ingredients during his apprenticeship time in Slughorn's potions classroom. The hours spent cleaning and organizing every cabinet paid off by enabling him to quickly locate and pocket everything he needed.

They stole away to Grimmauld place whenever possible to check up on the potion and to add ingredients when necessary. Ron and Hermione only visited London once during the brewing time and by all accounts they didn't notice.

Blaise continued to pursue them, but had even less luck than before, now that their London retreat had replaced the more finicky Room of Requirement. He tried sending tracking bugs after them but all they could glean was that they were traveling to Ilsington before being detected and destroyed. His tenacity was unsurprising, given his education in long-term scheming, but his lack of subtlety was wearying and annoying. Draco and Harry did their best to ignore him and give him nothing to use against them.

Finally after a month of careful work the polyjuice potion was ready. Draco had a hard time not fidgeting in his Friday classes as he anticipated the adventure they were about to enjoy. Blaise watched him carefully and followed him out of Arithmancy class that afternoon. He tailed Draco down a side corridor and finally called out.

"Draco, wait!" he shouted as Draco mounted the stairs to the third floor.

"No thank you, Zabini," Draco kept walking.

"I want to apologize," Blaise called insistently. Draco paused.

"Listen," Blaise caught up and hung his head in shame. "I'm really sorry for the way I've been treating you. I know it hasn't been fair and it's been really annoying. I just want you to know that I'm calling it off. I want a truce. I want to be friends."

Draco raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose at his repentant Slytherin housemate. It was almost March. Just three more months until the end of the school year and graduation. After such an intense campaign, did it really seen likely that Blaise would give in? There was still plenty of time to try to take Draco down.

He knew Blaise's mindset intimately. He knew what it felt like to pursue his quarry until it dropped from exhaustion. He knew the searing pain of wounded pride when the chase had to be abandoned. His posturing was right, he was ashamed of his failure, not of his actions.

It was in the social contract of Slytherin house to offer friendship to a defeated opponent. It was only proper for the victor to offer at least the illusion of forgiveness, although ensuring their housemates were aware of the balance of power was certainly permissible. Draco would definitely do so. Blaise's standing would be lowered as a defeated challenger, and he knew it.

Draco was inclined to believe his surrender on that point alone. It would be an incredibly risky move to concede and then continue in the pursuit of victory. Draco's personal style would never include such a tactic. Draco's style was to pursue victory, and at the point of defeat enjoin his father to intervene. He wasn't proud of his past.

"No harm done, Zabini," Draco said haughtily. "I assume you'll let your cohorts know that you've come to your senses?"

"I will," Blaise looked pained.

"And you'll make it clear that your assumptions about Potter and myself were unfounded?"

"You know they're not," Blaise's eyes narrowed angrily. "You kissed him right in front of me. You and I both know it."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're on about," Draco almost felt a twinge of guilt about how much he enjoyed torturing his housemate.

"You know what?" Blaise jabbed his finger at Draco's face. "Forget it. It's back on. I will haunt you until the end of school."

"Well I hope you have a new plan," Draco shrugged. "Because what you've done so far hasn't been too successful."

Blaise cursed vehemently and stormed off. Draco considered whether he should have gone easier on him, accepted the truce on his terms. No, he decided. The likelihood was that the truce wouldn't have lasted anyway. Better to enjoy the upper hand, no matter how petty the pleasure. That said, he decided not to tell Harry about the conversation. No need worrying him about Blaise's renewed commitment to humiliating them.

After dinner Harry and Draco met in their usual spot and Apparated in the alley near twelve Grimmauld Place. They dropped their belongings in the foyer and raced to the top floor. Harry mounted the ladder to the attic and checked the potion, and called down that it was ready. He ladled out two cups and passed them down through the hatch, then stowed the ladder away. They retreated to the master bedroom and set their cups down. They were both nervous.

"You've done this before?" Draco asked, eyeing the unpleasant looking potion closely.

"Yes," Harry's face flushed. "During second year."

"That long ago?" Draco was impressed. "Pretty advanced magic. I assume Granger was involved."

"Of course."

"Who did you impersonate?" Draco asked. Harry looked guilty. "What? Tell me."

"Crabbe and Goyle," Harry's eyes were averted. "We were spying on you."

"What?" Draco was stunned. When had this happened? He thought furiously but couldn't think of a time when he had suspected his two friends.

"We've both done things that need forgiving," Harry was well and truly embarrassed.

"I can't believe you got away with it," Draco shook his head.

"Needless to say, I've done it and I can tell you it tastes horrid."

"Nothing worth doing comes easy," Draco smiled and lifted his cup. Harry lifted his, too, and they both chuckled nervously.

Harry reached out and plucked a hair from Draco's head, then Draco plucked a hair from Harry's. They dropped the hairs into their cups and watched the potion react.

"Ready?" Draco was jittery. "Cheers."

They both drank deeply, then coughed and gagged at the flavor. They set their cups down and doubled over. Draco's innards felt like they were crawling and writhing. He dropped to his knees and clutched his stomach. Harry leaned against the bedpost and moaned in agony.

Draco held his hands out and watched the skin bubble and change. It lost its pale translucence, his long elegant fingers shortened. His nails looked unkempt. His chest broadened and his muscles filled out with the well-toned physique of a practiced athlete. He knew these muscles, he'd run his tongue along every inch of them. He struggled to his feet and reached for Harry, who had taken on a leaner, lithe form, his hair lightened to white blond.

The shifting, squirming agony finally stopped and Draco was able to stand fully. He turned to look at himself in the vanity mirror but could only make out a blurry smear. A pale hand extended a pair of round glasses, which he gladly slipped onto his face. The image solidified.

He stared in stunned silence, so much more overwhelmed by the transformation than he had expected to be. His hair was dark and tousled, his eyes green, his body muscled. His eyebrows were strong, his jaw was square. He looked like, no, he was Harry Potter.

He turned speechlessly towards the other boy. He faced a supple, lean young man with silvery gray eyes and neatly combed platinum blond hair. He had a straight, regal nose, a broad forehead, and an overall handsomeness that it was impossible to deny. He knew this face, but it was strange from this new perspective.

"Whoa," the boy breathed, clutching the bedpost as though to keep himself upright.

"Harry?" Draco asked tentatively, even though he knew it was silly to do so.

"Merlin," the other boy gasped. "You look just like me."

They stood before each other and stared, disoriented and bewildered. Draco reached out tentatively and touched the other boy's blond hair. The other boy reached out and touched Draco's black hair.

"I don't know what to say," the familiar face said.

Draco looked at himself in the mirror again and shook his head. "This is weirder than I thought it would be."

"Are you turned on?" Harry's-voice-in-Draco's-body asked.

"Not really," Draco-in-Harry looked down at his hands again.

The blond boy stepped over and leaned forward hesitantly. He pressed his lips to Draco's and they kissed awkwardly for a moment. It felt different. It was the same two pairs of lips kissing as they had so many times before, but the sensation was all wrong. They parted and gazed into each other's reversed eyes in silence.

"Might as well have a look," Draco hoisted Harry's shirt over his head and realized how silly the idea was. He knew what his own body looked like. Still, it was different, seeing it from this angle.

They both undressed unceremoniously and looked at each other. It was eerie to look at himself. It was unnerving to look down and see an unfamiliar knob between his legs. Well, familiar but unfamiliar.

They laid on the bed and cradled each other in their arms, equal parts intrigued and confused. They kissed for a minute or two, then grasped each other and stroked a few times. The sensation was fundamentally the same, regardless of the body, but the nerves fired differently, in response to different touches. Draco closed his eyes and thought about Harry, then opened his eyes and met his own gaze. He stopped tugging, and Harry instantly did the same.

"It's too weird, isn't it?" Harry-in-Draco's gray eyes were pleading.

"Yeah," Draco in Harry sat up and looked at the other boy appraisingly. "I think I'm not attracted to myself."

Harry laughed, but they both knew it was true. They weren't attracted to themselves, so staring out from each other's eyes didn't pay off they way Draco had thought it would.

They reluctantly left the bed and dressed in each other's clothes. They touched affectionately every time they were near enough to, but the desire was dampened.

"I guess we just have to wait it out," Harry scratched his head in a very Harry gesture that looked funny on Draco.

"I guess so," Draco leaned on the dresser and inspected himself closely in the mirror. If he were by himself he could see wanking to his reflection like this. But since he could have the real Harry anytime he wanted without waiting a month and drinking a noxious potion, it seemed like an unnecessary effort.

Suddenly they heard a thump in the foyer, then feet on the stairs. "Harry?" a voice called.

"Hermione!" Harry hissed, his gray eyes filled with panic. "What do we do?"

"Stay calm," Draco checked himself in the mirror one more time. "We'll get them out of here. It can't be much longer until it wears off."

"Harry!" Granger stopped just outside of their door and tapped hesitantly. "Are you in there?"

Draco took a deep breath and opened the door. Granger and The Weasel were on the other side. Weasley sighed in relief when he saw Draco/Harry was fully clothed. He glanced over Draco's shoulder and spotted Harry/Draco and frowned. He was better at accepting Draco's presence than he used to be, especially since Christmas, but his immediate, reflexive reaction was to show his displeasure first.

"Do you mind if we use the house this weekend, too?" Hermione smiled winningly and bounced on her toes. "We have theater tickets."

"Uh, yeah," Draco couldn't think of a way to say no. His mind seized up as he tried to think of what Harry would say, and how his voice would sound.

"Do you want to come with us? There are probably still tickets available." They only had eyes for their friend. Draco was painfully aware of how little attention they had for the room's other occupant. They'd done remarkably well at accepting his and Harry's relationship, and in spite of their tumultuous history they had included Draco quite politely on most occasions. But he still wasn't one of them. He wasn't in their inner circle. He wondered how Harry felt, now that he was the one on the outside.

"Oh! You have to see what Ron got me!" Granger seized his arm in her fierce little grip and tugged him out of the room. Weasley followed and the three of them pounded down the stairs to the kitchen on the ground floor. Draco glanced back helplessly and saw Harry bringing up the rear, his pale face drawn and thoughtful. That was probably pretty convincing, he thought.

The massive kitchen table was dominated by a simple glass vessel that just barely contained two dozen long stemmed red roses. He glanced at Weasley appraisingly, impressed that he'd had both the finances and the good sense to give such a gift.

"What?" Weasley's eyes bugged out. "She loves them."

"They're brilliant," Draco struggled to respond as Harry would in as few words possible.

"Two dozen!" Granger exclaimed, her cheeks flushed. "And when they die I'm going to hang and dry them for potions."

"How terribly practical of you," Draco said dryly. His tone drew strange looks from Hermione, Ron and Harry.

"What do you think, Draco?" Granger drew the other boy into the conversation belatedly.

Harry didn't respond at first, then jumped as he realized Hermione was speaking to him. "Uh," he looked startled, "that's fine."

Draco stared at him in dismay, certain that their cover was blown.

"What's fine?" Weasley demanded. "What's wrong with you, Malfoy?"

"Nothing," Harry-as-Draco perked up and shifted his posture to look a little more Malfoy-ish. "I'm impressed with your good taste, Weasley. For once."

Draco smiled. That was actually a pretty reasonable impression.

"What time do you need to be at the theater?" Draco asked, trying to keep his tone friendly. He stepped over to Harry and slipped his arm around his waist just to see the discomfort on Weasley's face.

"Not for another couple of hours," Granger checked the clock over the fireplace. "We didn't interrupt anything, did we?"

"No," Draco shook his head, feeling the unfamiliar weight of glasses on his nose. "We were just hanging out."

"Can we talk to you for a minute?" Weasley asked, eyeing Harry-in-Draco warily. "In private?"

"Sure," Draco's stomach quaked. He and Harry exchanged anxious glances.

"Excuse us," Hermione smiled with strained politeness at her camouflaged friend.

Draco shot Harry another look, one that pled for help. Harry shrugged, his gray eyes wide and unsure. Draco allowed himself to be led into the dining room, where Weasley slid the doors closed behind them. His heart pounded wildly now that he was alone with his former rivals in the wrong body.

"Listen, mate," Weasley said in a hushed tone. "We thought you should know that Blaise Zabini is sniffing around outside."

"What? Where? Out front?" Draco felt his eyes darken. He balled his fists up and fought the urge to run outside and beat his housemate with his bare hands.

"We don't think he's figured out the house's secret," Granger added, touching his arm to calm him.

"We waited until he left to come inside. But he obviously followed you," Weasley frowned.

"Why did you need to tell me in private?" Draco asked, casting his eyes to the closed doors. He imagined Harry waiting in the kitchen, uncomfortable in his borrowed skin, knowing his best friends didn't know or trust him.

"Well," Granger and Weasley exchanged an indecipherable look, "Blaise is a Slytherin."

"And?"

"Malfoy," Weasley said.

"What?" Draco realized belatedly that Weasley wasn't addressing him and added, "What does Draco have to do with it?"

"They're housemates," Granger said gently. "Are you sure he's not here on Malfoy's orders?"

Draco stared at her in shock. He felt stupid, of course they still thought of him that way. They had only accepted him at Harry's insistence, not because they wanted to. He couldn't blame them, not after seven years of skullduggery. But his heart fell a little at their bald-faced suspicion.

"Blaise and Draco aren't friends," he said firmly. "He's trying to prove to Slytherin house that we're gay so I'll-- he'll lose credibility. It's political maneuvering." He realized belatedly that he had openly referenced their sexuality without blanching, which Harry couldn't quite do yet. He hoped they wouldn't notice.

"They're really like that in Slytherin?" Weasley wrinkled his nose distaste.

"It's very competitive," Draco nodded.

"Do you really believe that?" Hermione frowned dubiously.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"It's just," Hermione looked uncomfortable. "Well, Blaise and Draco used to be friends. We just want to make sure you aren't being set up to get hurt."

"What makes more sense? That Draco has become a totally different person, or that this is part of the old rivalry?" Weasley asked.

"We're not saying he doesn't like you," Hermione added. "We just want to make sure you're being careful."

Draco suddenly felt like he had been ambushed with an intervention. "Why are you questioning this now? You had us over to your house for Christmas, Weasley. For Merlin's sake, we've been together for four months. That's an awfully long con, wouldn't you say?"

"I had him over because you're my best friend," Weasley's eyes darkened. "And since when do you call me anything but Ron?"

"Please don't be cross, Harry," Hermione grasped his hand. "But to Ron's point, you’re acting differently. You’re drifting away from us. You spend less and less time at Gryffindor with your friends and more time away with Draco. He's taking you away from the people who care about you. Are you sure he’s not isolating you on purpose?"

"He’s not doing anything of the sort," Draco was stunned.

"He's a Dark Wizard," Weasley continued as though Draco hadn't spoken. "You’re spending time with him and drifting away from us, and we just want to make sure he's not pulling you down the wrong path."

"He's not a Dark Wizard," Draco insisted. "Maybe he was heading that direction before the war, but he's different now."

"What if you're wrong?" Hermione's eyes were pleading.

"I'm not."

"If he was different he would feel remorse for what he did in the past," Hermione said.

"He does," Draco said softly.

"If he does, he's never shown it to anyone but you," Weasley frowned.

"Is that what it will take for you to accept him? An apology?" Draco was horrified. He didn't want to apologize to them. Of course he was sorry for his worst offenses, but wasn't he allowed to retain any of his pride?

"It would be a start, wouldn't it?" Hermione asked. "Dark Wizards don't feel remorse. It would go towards proving that he's not still on an evil path."

"He cast a Patronus," Draco blurted out. "That proves he's not a Dark Wizard."

"He did what? When?" Ron stared at Draco-in-Harry in disbelief.

"I taught him right here in this room. I saw it."

"An actual Patronus?" Hermione was doubtful, too.

"Yes, of course an actual Patronus. Do you think he could fake one?" Draco couldn't keep up the effort to sound like Harry, but his two friends seemed too preoccupied to notice.

"What's his spirit animal?" Ron asked, his face mildly repulsed at the options which sprang to mind first.

"A falcon," Draco-in-Harry couldn't keep the wonder out of his voice. "It was brilliant."

Granger looked at Weasley. "A Patronus," she said thoughtfully. "He's right, a Dark Wizard couldn't do that. He has to have changed."

"He has," Draco's voice caught in his throat. He chided himself for feeling anything for these two gits. Why did their opinions matter? He couldn't answer his own question, he just knew that they mattered. He took a breath to gather his composure. "If he were here and he could hear your doubts I'm sure he would feel badly. He can't change what happened in the past but he’s sorry for what he has done."

"He should try showing it," Weasley grumbled. "It just seems like he's trying to get a free pass to forgiveness by attaching himself to you."

"No," Draco shook his head, aware of his glasses again. "He loves me," he blanched as the words left his throat. He felt exposed, vulnerable. He instantly wished he hadn’t spoken the words aloud, but he had to make them understand. He swallowed hard, "And I love him."

"I just don't understand how," Weasley frowned.

"It's no different from the way you two feel."

"But we were never enemies," Weasley said as though it were obvious.

"Sometimes we fight hardest against what we want most," Draco replied. "I don't know how else to explain it." He looked back and forth between his boyfriend's two best friends. "You don't have to love Draco. But you need to accept that I do, and he's not going away anytime soon. I’m not going to be your third wheel anymore. If you want me around, you need to accept both of us, not just me."

Granger and Weasley looked guilty.

"And as far as Blaise Zabini goes, Draco will take care of that nonsense." He glanced toward the windows to the street.

"What are you going to do?"

"Confront him. And keep dodging him as much as we can," Draco said, trying to return to a Harry-like tone now that the tension had eased. "Maybe we'll come out on our own just so he won't have the pleasure."

"You would do that?" Granger looked dubious.

"Not yet," Draco tried to look appropriately aghast. "But someday."

"The Daily Prophet will have a field day," Weasley's eyes bugged out and he frowned comically.

Just then Harry-in-Draco slid open the doors and poked his blond head through. "Sorry to interrupt," his voice was stiff and cold. "Dra-Harry, may I have a moment of your time?"

Draco caught his slip and hustled him out of the dining room, sliding the doors shut on the Gryffindor couple. "You almost blew it, you prat," Draco whispered. He looked searchingly into his familiar eyes, "Did you hear any of that?"

"All of it," Harry looked proud. "You said it better than I could have. They need to accept that you're a part of my life now." He reached out and ran his slender fingers through Draco's messy black hair. "You cockeyed wanker," he added.

Draco couldn't take the tension any longer. He backed Harry against the wall, adrenaline rushing through his veins as the thrill of subterfuge overwhelmed him. He threw himself at the other boy, crushing his mouth beneath his. Harry must have felt the same rush because he pushed back with equal vehemence. Draco needed him so badly after that confrontation that he thought he might explode.

"We have to get back upstairs," Harry broke off and whispered hoarsely, his gray eyes worried. "The polyjuice will start wearing off any minute now." Draco nodded, then seized Harry's mouth in another fit of excitement.

Just then the dining room doors slid open and Weasley and Granger stepped out. They froze at the sight of the two boys locked in the throes of passion.

"Bollocks," Ron's voice squeaked.

"Sorry!" Hermione slammed the doors shut.

Draco grabbed Harry's hand and ran upstairs, dragging the fairer boy behind him. He still wasn't attracted to the familiar image, but the thrill of nearly being discovered experimenting with something rather taboo had overtaken his senses. They raced for the master bedroom on the second floor and locked the door behind them.

Draco unzipped Harry's slacks as quickly as he could, and Harry responded in kind. He pushed Harry's trousers down over the curve of his hips and climbed on top of him, grappling and kissing with animal rage. Harry was right in step with him, burying his hands in Draco's messy dark hair. Draco flipped him over and pressed up against him, then shoved his trousers down and pushed into his tight opening. Harry gasped sharply at the sensation of his own body penetrating an unaccustomed entrance. Draco's head spun as he realized he was shagging his own arse.

They thrust rhythmically together, rising towards climax. As the electric charge built between them they both suddenly felt the squirming, writhing sensation of transformation. Draco looked down at Harry's mussed blond hair and marveled at the rippling transition as the color changed and became black once again. His arms and legs sprouted dark hair and his body filled out with its familiar muscular curves. Draco saw his own hands lighten and knew he was changing, too.

The amazement of transitioning pushed them over the edge and they climaxed intensely. They tried to muffle their cries, shuddering and convulsing together. Draco finally collapsed into Harry's arms, and they gasped for breath. Draco looked up into Harry's comfortingly correct green eyes and laughed. Harry lifted the glasses off of Draco's face and seated them on his own with a grin.

They found their wands and cast a clean up spell, then zipped up and headed back downstairs. To their surprise Weasley and Granger were still there, sitting at the kitchen table and steeping tea. Their expressions were polite but awkward as they looked up, still grappling with the vision of their best friend passionately snogging Draco Malfoy.

"We're heading out to the theater in a few minutes," Granger said lightly, "The offer is still open if you'd like to join us."

"I think we'll just stay in and have a quiet night," Harry said with a smile that seemed indecent in light of what they had just finished doing. Weasley and Granger blushed and ducked their heads, having no illusions about the couple's brief disappearance.

To Draco's surprise Harry sidled up to him and slipped his arm around his waist. Aside from the day they accidentally told his friends about their relationship, or a little while ago when Draco had done it in Harry’s likeness, it was his first display of affection around them. Overhearing their intervention must have triggered a change of heart in him. Draco casually wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

"Listen, Draco," Granger poured four cups of tea, a gesture he found touchingly inclusive. "We're sorry we haven't been more accepting of you. You're clearly making efforts to change but we haven't done you the courtesy of recognizing it."

Draco eyed her appraisingly. She was a terribly good diplomat. The girl he had once dismissed as a filthy mudblood was far more respectable than he had ever given her credit for. He felt a pang of regret for all of the times he had tried to crush her ambition and spirit, simply because it made him feel superior.

"Apology accepted," he said formally. "And for what it's worth, I've thought a lot about the bad blood that has passed between us and if I could go back and change it, I would." He paused and then forced himself to put a finer point on it. "I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Granger smiled warmer. "I promise to try harder."

Harry tilted his head and rested it happily on Draco's shoulder.

"Harry told us you conjured a Patronus," she added.

"I did," Draco was privately amused that he was being asked to repeat the same news. "A falcon."

"How was it?" she smiled.

"It was brilliant," he said truthfully.

Weasley was silent, still visibly struggling with acceptance.

"Ron," Draco uttered the unfamiliar name without realizing it. "My apology extends to you, too. I was a spoiled prat. You welcomed me into your home and showed me how amazing your family is. I should have never judged you." He paused, then decided to go all in. “I never had a home like that. My father treated me as an obligation and a pawn. My mother loved me in her own way, I suppose, but never showed it. I am truly envious of what you have.”

Weasley looked dumbfounded, first by the name and second by the apology. "Right on, mate," Ron nodded, his eyes wide and his voice stunned.

Harry released Draco and grabbed a chair, then sat and dunked a biscuit in his tea all in one move. Draco sat across from him and sipped, eyeing his soggy bite with disgust. He and Granger exchanged a look that shared a similar opinion of his table manners.

“What show are you seeing tonight?” Draco asked politely.

“Les Miserables,” Ron garbled around two biscuits. Draco and Granger frowned simultaneously.

“Well,” Draco cleared his throat, “perhaps we should join you after all.” Draco eyed Harry questioningly. He thought about the Gryffindor couple’s concerns about their growing isolation. He had no interest in attending a muggle musical production, but it might be good to go out with other people sometimes.

“I suppose we could,” Harry frowned dubiously, clearly as disinterested in the theater as Draco.

“Hooray!” Granger was thrilled. “We should get ready to go so we have time to stop at the box office. Do you think perhaps you should change?” Her eyes twinkled

Draco and Harry looked down and froze in mutual dismay. Draco was wearing Harry’s red jumper and jeans, and Harry was wearing Draco’s black crewneck pullover and charcoal trousers.

"Um," Weasley suddenly looked up in wary confusion, "did you guys switch clothes?"


	15. Chapter 15

On April 26th Draco completed his final laser tattoo removal session and the doctor pronounced him finished. He said the last of the blistering should heal nicely, and all remnants of the Dark Mark would be eradicated. Draco shook his hand gratefully and exited the office without stopping to make a follow-up appointment. He and Harry stood out on the London sidewalk, drinking in the sunshine of the oncoming spring and wondering what to do next.

It wasn’t as simple as deciding where to go for lunch. Their monthly outings were over, and it seemed like they should choose something special to celebrate. Of course, they had been visiting London regularly since reviving the old Black family residence, but the laser sessions were special. They had brought them together.

They chose a particularly nice tea room in a touristy area where they could muggle-watch and enjoy each other’s company. They passed a wide variety of people on the way to the restaurant, some alone, some in couples, some in groups. They saw combinations of every shape and size and description, all coexisting without staring or shouting. Harry reached for Draco’s hand and reveled in the joy of being totally unremarkable.

After lunch they headed back to school and parted ways. Harry had been tasked with helping Professor Slughorn’s first year students with their homework, and Draco had Quidditch practice. After practice Draco spent a few hours in the infirmary, learning the art of mending bones under Madam Pomfrey’s supervision. Harry followed his potion work with a shower and a shave, then joined his housemates in the common room before dinner.

Harry felt good, relaxed and optimistic. He and Draco had been together for five months and the frantic need to be alone together at every opportunity had mellowed nicely into a confident, strong couplehood that was unthreatened by time spent apart. He knew they would see each other at supper, and afterwards they would meet in the library for studying. He no longer felt the need to pace and wonder if the other boy had changed his mind or when he would see him again.

He and Ron were regaling a group of underclassmen with stories of their first and second year adventures when Neville entered through the Fat Lady painting with a tense look on his face. He had taken an apprenticeship in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that had surprised everyone. He occasionally returned to Gryffindor solemn and withdrawn, but tonight he scanned the room and immediately drew Ron and Harry aside.

“Can you two keep a secret?” he asked soberly as he moved them over to a corner near the fireplace.

“Sometimes,” Ron shrugged. Harry nodded, confirming Ron’s honesty about his less than guaranteed vow of silence.

“Last semester I was tasked with doing an inventory of the Dark Arts artifacts,” Neville ignored their flip response.

“Sounds like my apprenticeship, too,” Harry grumbled.

“I finished it before winter holiday and everything was accounted for,” Neville pressed on. “This afternoon Professor McGonagall called me to her office and questioned me about it.”

“McGonagall?” Ron frowned. “You must have really screwed up.”

“I thought she was going to accuse me of something,” Neville nodded. “It turns out an item is missing.”

“Did she think you took something?” Harry asked.

“What was missing?” Ron asked at the same time.

“The Boggart,” Neville’s eyes bugged out. His answer had the exact effect he was looking for as Harry and Ron’s jaws dropped in amazement. "The whole cabinet and everything."

“How does something like that disappear?” Ron demanded. “It’s as big as a wardrobe.”

“That’s what Professor McGonagall wanted to know.”

“She couldn’t have thought you took it,” Harry said.

“No, but I think she thought I might have allowed someone else to take it,” Neville chewed his lip, the fresh memory of the conversation weighing heavily on his mind.

“Intentionally?” Ron squeaked.

“Or carelessly,” Neville smiled grimly. “My reputation precedes me.”

“What does she think now?”

“I think she believed me when I told her I hadn’t seen anything,” Neville sighed. “She didn’t dock any house points. She thanked me and sent me away.”

“Where could it have gone?” Harry wondered.

The three boys pondered that question silently as their housemates started drifting out in the direction of the Great Hall.

“Supper?” Ron asked, rubbing his stomach eagerly.

“Do you want to wait for Hermione?” Harry asked.

“She’ll be along,” Ron patted Neville on the back, “Cheer up, Neville. The cabinet will turn up. Something like that can't stay hidden for long.”

“Maybe,” Neville looked glum.

They clattered down the stairs with the rest of their classmates and made their way in the direction of food. The other houses were assembling as well, filtering in through the large doors in clusters of chattering students. As they rounded the corner into the foyer Harry caught sight of a shock of white blond hair in a sea of Slytherins. He met Draco’s eyes across the crowd and excused himself. Ron caught Neville’s arm and steered him into the Great Hall, shooting Harry a knowing look.

Harry ducked into a side corridor that led towards the rear of the school. A moment later Draco entered the corridor and strode over to Harry with a smile. He caught Harry in his arms and kissed him hello. They leaned together against the cool stone wall and talked about their afternoons. They agreed to meet for studying after the evening meal and parted ways, timing their entrance into the dining hall a few minutes apart.

Harry sat with his friends, next to Ron and across from Seamus. Hermione rushed in a few minutes later, her arms laden with books borrowed during her apprenticeship in the archives.

"You have to be the only person crazy enough to read extra material for fun while studying for the N.E.W.T.s," Seamus shook his head in wonder.

The conversation was never far from the topic of the approaching exams. They were only a few weeks away. Every extra minute was spent in studying, individually or in groups. The enthusiasm with which the houses had competed in practice had worn down as anxiety over the real thing crescendoed.

Harry was as nervous as any of his classmates. He was determined to get accepted into the Auror Academy on the first try, but it would take very good scores to do so. In fact, he planned on spending his evening filling out his application so he could send it off for advance consideration. He knew without conceit that his reputation as the Boy who Lived would work in his favor, especially as the Daily Prophet had run a serial on his involvement in the defeat of Voldemort. He was widely regarded as a hero, and he had received commendations from the Ministry following the war. All of that paved the way for his entrance into the Academy. But N.E.W.T. scores were a hurdle he couldn’t bypass. He had to meet the minimum requirement before he could be accepted, hero or not.

Draco’s situation was similar. He had worked diligently with Madam Pomfrey to build a basic level of competency that would serve him well during Healer school entrance interviews. He was well connected through his family’s name and could undoubtedly buy acceptance into the most prestigious institutions if he wanted to. But regardless of whether he chose to leverage his skills, networking or bank account, his N.E.W.T scores had to be adequate. No Healer program would want to find its acceptance practices under scrutiny later.

Hermione served herself and started shooting practice questions around the table. The eighth-year and seventh-year students all leaned in, rushing to be first to answer correctly. Harry could hold his own, but he still worried about Arithmancy, his most troublesome course.

“Open it!” a group shout arose from the Slytherin table. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs alike all turned to see what the hubbub was.

An owl had arrived with an awkwardly large, rectangular package in its claws. It was the size of a cauldron, if it were boxed and wrapped in brown paper and twine. The feathered messenger had dropped it in front of Draco Malfoy, and all eyes were on him as he eyed it warily. His housemates urged him to open it, all curious to see what their most revered housemate had received.

Draco glanced up in Harry’s direction, his gray eyes inquisitive and his mouth drawn. Harry shook his head slightly. He had no idea what the package could be. Draco set the box on the floor and inspected it for a moment. His housemates egged him on, chanting for him to open it up and see what was inside.

“Well it’s certainly not a new broomstick,” Draco said dryly, eyeing Harry pointedly. The upperclassmen chuckled, remembering.

Harry scanned the crowd. All eyes were on Slytherin, and all Slytherin eyes were on Draco. All eyes with the exception of two. Blaise Zabini was calmly eating his dinner, his expression bored and detached. He acted as though he hadn’t noticed the shift in the room or the mysterious delivery. Harry glared at him, wondering whether this was a ploy to pretend that Draco was beneath his notice or something more nefarious.

“Might as well see what it is,” Draco drawled languidly, leaning forward and tugging at the twine. Blaise’s eyes snapped up, his expression suddenly intense. Harry’s heart leapt into his throat and he thrust his hand out towards the Slytherin table.

“Draco, don’t!” he shouted, but his voice was lost in the rising chatter of the Slytherin housemates as they guessed at the package’s mysterious contents.

The twine unravelled and slithered to the floor, freeing the brown paper wrapping. Draco lifted the edge of the paper and tore it open, revealing a black box inside. As soon as the box was exposed it shimmered, trembled and smoked, then grew rapidly to the height of a wardrobe. Harry knew exactly what it was before it was finished.

“Boggart!” Neville exclaimed, echoing Harry’s fear. The students in the Great Hall gasped in unison as Neville’s voice rang out. Draco jumped to his feet and took two steps back, his eyes wide and his expression stunned.

The cabinet door swung open and for a moment nothing appeared. Draco belatedly scrambled to ready his wand. He positioned his feet to steady his stance and raised his wand threateningly. Something inside the cabinet shifted, and a black shape started to emerge. First one leg, then another, then two pale hands and a drawn, slender face with a wide forehead and a long, regal nose. Long silvery blond hair cascaded down from its head as it stepped clear of the box and regarded the boy before him with great disdain. Lucius Malfoy was back from the dead.

Except it wasn’t really Lucius. Harry knew that, the rest of the student body knew that, but at that moment Draco was too terrified to know that. His face was a frozen mask of fear, his wand dangling uselessly from his motionless hand. He stared into his father’s familiar eyes and was unable to move or act.

Harry glanced over at Blaise Zabini and clenched his fists. The Slytherin boy looked delighted, his teeth bared like fangs in a grin that savored his social rival’s petrification. He wanted to punch him in the nose but knew it wouldn’t stop the Boggart, which was of greater concern at the moment.

Lucius gazed haughtily down his nose at Draco, giving the impression of height in spite of the fact that they were equal in stature. Draco shrank back, cowed by his visage.

“I am terribly disappointed in you, Draco,” the Boggart spoke in perfect imitation of Lucius’s cool, arrogant tones. “You failed us, and you continue to fail even now.”

Draco was speechless, his face crumpling and his wand hand dropping to his side.

“You are my sole heir,” Lucius-Boggart continued, “And yet you come back here to squander your opportunity. You could have had greatness. If you had not failed us you could have joined us at the right hand of the Dark Lord. We were wrong to entrust you with our survival.”

“Don’t listen to it!” Harry shouted. The rest of the student body was silent, stunned by the display and afraid of attracting the Boggart’s attention. “Nothing it says is true! It’s using your fear!”

Draco shook his head as though awakening from a daydream. He looked around the Great Hall at the hundreds of eyes pointed his way. He drew himself up to his full height and readied his wand.

“And that boy,” the Lucius figure continued, “Your dalliances would be bad enough, but to bring shame on the Malfoy name with--”

“Riddikulus!” Harry cried, urging Draco to act before too much was said.

“Riddikulus!” Draco shouted as he thrust his wand forward.

Lucius’s white blond hair stood up on end and his body went rigid. He spun around like a top and transformed into an oversized broomstick, which promptly toppled over. Draco darted forward and kicked the broom into the cabinet and slammed the door. The great hall erupted into cheers and applause as Draco affixed the latch.

Harry fought the urge to run to him, to see if he was okay. The student body had accepted their friendship in spite of their previous rivalry, but that would be taking it too far. Instead, Pansy Parkinson rushed to his side and wrapped her arms around him protectively. She cooed and sat him back down as the school staff finally came to their senses and swept in to remove the cabinet from the room.

Draco glanced fleetingly in Harry’s direction and their eyes met briefly. He was ashamed of himself, it was plain on his face. He had been so brave since the death of his parents, only rarely showing its effect on his well-being. This had been a dramatic exposure of his greatest weakness, and he wasn’t proud. No matter, his housemates rallied around him, taking shared pride in the strength demonstrated by one of their fellow residents.

The staff broke up the revelry and sent the students back to their common rooms. Draco was swept out by his housemates and Harry exited a few minutes later with Gryffindor house. They made their way to the tower and waited in groups for the stairs to swing about and carry them to the top. As Harry mounted the last flight to the Fat Lady painting he was greeted by the Head Girl, who had been waiting patiently for his arrival.

“Headmistress McGonagall would like to speak with you,” the Hufflepuff girl said simply. Ron and Neville eyed him with concern. Clearly the only topic on the Headmistress’ mind would be the Boggart, but what had that to do with Harry Potter?

“Of course,” Harry nodded for the Head Girl to lead the way. She strode away with a businesslike air, full of the self-importance that marked those who were bestowed with the title.

He was filled with mixed emotions as they approached the entrance to the Headmistress’ quarters. He had come this way so many times before to meet and discuss important matters with Professor Dumbledore, but hadn’t been back since his death. His heart was heavy with dread as the Head Girl waved him in.

Professor McGonagall had revised the space, changing the furnishings and moving the magic artifacts about. While far from a total transformation, it sufficiently changed the space to prevent the sense of being haunted by the past.

There was a conversation area near the middle of the room, a pair of sofas and a coffee table on a tasteful Oriental rug. McGonagall was seated on the far sofa, and a guest was seated opposite of her. The blond head turned, and he met the eyes of Draco Malfoy.

“Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall waved him over and invited him to sit next to Draco. She poured a cup of tea for each guest, and then one for herself.

Harry and Draco were careful not to look at each other as they each nervously accepted their tea. Professor McGonagall made small talk at first, asking them how their studies were going, how they were enjoying their apprenticeships, what they thought of the self-guided eighth-year curriculum. They each answered politely, quietly and carefully. Finally she came to her point.

“I want to ask you about the incident with the Boggart at supper,” she said bluntly. “We noticed that it went missing this week and I can tell you that we were quite surprised to see it appear again so soon, and used in such a way.”

“Not as surprised as I was,” Draco said dryly, setting down his cup.

“It wasn’t me,” Harry said quickly. “I know Draco and I have had a long history, but we’re friends now. I wouldn’t do something like that to him.”

“That wasn’t my concern, Mister Potter,” Professor McGonagall eyed him carefully.

“Then,” Harry paused, wishing he could look to Draco for support, “then why am I here?”

“Who do you suppose would have a reason to set a Boggart against you, Mister Malfoy?” the Headmistress pointedly ignored Harry’s question.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He furrowed his brow and averted his eyes. Finally he spoke with a bitterness Harry hadn’t heard in a long time. “I’m sure there are plenty of people who would like to see me get what I deserve.”

“Perhaps,” McGonagall nodded. “But is there anyone in particular that you can think of?”

“Blaise Zabini,” Harry piped up. Draco shot him a warning look. “I saw him at supper. He seemed to know what was in the package, and he smiled when Lucius-- I mean the Boggart appeared.

“Indeed, Mister Potter,” McGonagall set her cup down and leaned back, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I noticed that, too.” She returned her attention to Draco. “Can you think of any reason why Mister Zabini would do such a thing to you?”

“He’s competitive,” Draco shrugged. “He’d like to make a mockery of me so he can gain popularity in Slytherin house.”

“So the rumors are true,” McGonagall smiled secretively. “The power struggles of Slytherin house always make for interesting conversation among the staff.” She shifted in her seat and looked back and forth between the two boys, who were pointedly avoiding eye contact with each other. “And what humiliating fact do you think he hoped the Boggart would reveal?”

Harry was suspicious of her casual manner. Dumbledore occasionally played this game, pretending he was ignorant of something he knew quite well. Would Professor McGonagall play the same way?

“Obviously he hoped I would appear to be a coward,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

“Well he failed at that,” McGonagall nodded approvingly and stood. She crossed the room to a cabinet full of small artifacts and touched an item here and there. “The wizarding world is a strangely conservative place,” she said lightly, “considering how fantastic the realm of magic is. You would think we would be more accepting of differences.”

Harry and Draco said nothing. They sat motionless, their hands at their sides, watching her move about the chamber.

“Interestingly, the muggle world has surpassed ours in many ways,” she continued. “When it comes to social tolerance they have made great strides to offer protections for those who are different from what is conventionally accepted.” She paused in her searching and lifted a square brass object. A smile touched her lips as she gazed at it affectionately. “It might interest you to know that in matters of non-magical social rights and nondiscrimination, the Ministry has in recent years adopted a policy that honors the laws ratified by Parliament.” She returned to the sofa, the object concealed in her hand. “This was not always the case, unfortunately. And sadly some of the greatest wizards of our time were forced to conceal themselves in order to avoid persecution.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, increasingly sure that she knew more than she was saying. Draco did not move. His eyes were focused on hers, his expression introspective. The line that usually appeared between his eyebrows during times of stress was curiously absent.

“Do you know why I’m telling you this?” McGonagall asked, leaning forward and setting the small brass object on the table. It was age-worn and intricately etched, hinged on one side.

“I believe so,” Draco said quietly.

“Mister Potter?” McGonagall raised her eyebrows in his direction.

“I think so,” he was less certain. Rather, he was certain but hoped he was wrong.

“It is important for you to be strong in the face of people like Blaise Zabini,” McGonagall looked back and forth between them. “The world will only change when great men stand up for what they know is right. I have seen greatness in both of you. I hope you will stand for what is right.”

She reached down and grasped the brass object. It opened on the hinged side and revealed a photo inside. Two young men stood arm in arm, beaming happily against an ivy covered wall. A small plate beneath the photo was inscribed with two names: Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald. As they watched the two men in the photo turned to smile admiringly at each other, and then back towards the camera. Harry’s mind reeled as he realized what he was seeing.

Draco reached out and grasped Harry’s hand. Harry’s heart pounded painfully in his chest as he realized his suspicions were right, and McGonagall was talking about them. His eyes darted about the room, as though to find a distraction or an escape.

“Albus would have wanted you to be strong, as he could not be,” Professor McGonagall said softly, her eyes moistening as she gazed at the photo of her lost friend.

“Professor Dumbledore was the strongest man I’ve ever known,” Harry snapped. He resented the suggestion that he was otherwise.

“Indeed he was,” Professor McGonagall agreed. “But he was human like any other, imperfect and vulnerable as we all are. He was never able to be true to himself.” Her expression was sad and distant. “My hope is that you can honor him by being true to yourselves.”

Harry finally looked at Draco and met his gaze. His gray eyes searched Harry’s, urging him to speak up. Harry’s throat was dry and his face felt flushed. He was scared, but he allowed Draco to hold his hand there on the sofa, directly in Professor McGonagall’s line of sight. He opened his mouth and willed his voice to obey.

“Professor,” he paused to gather his strength, “I want to be true to myself. And I’m honored that you see Professor Dumbledore’s struggle in us.” He had to pause again to compose himself. “But I don’t know how. I want to be strong, but I’m not. I’m scared.”

Professor McGonagall lifted her chin and considered for a moment. “Sometimes,” she said, “the best way to get people to stop staring is to ask them to look.” She gathered the assortment of teacups and returned them to the serving tray with an air of dismissal. “The first stand is always the most difficult. After that it gets easier.”

She stood and swept to her desk near the towering bookcases along the back wall. She busied herself with a sheaf of parchments, giving the boys the distinct impression that the discussion was over. Draco stood and tugged Harry to his feet. They made their way to the door and exited without another word, each preoccupied with his own thoughts. The corridor was deserted, and they paused by the broad windows to look outside at the deepening evening sky.

Harry’s stomach was a jittery mess. He could feel words rising in his throat that he wasn’t altogether sure he wanted to say aloud. But he knew he should. Draco seemed to sense his agitation and pulled him into an embrace. He waited quietly while Harry steeled his nerve and found the strength to speak.

“Okay,” Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. “Let’s tell everyone.”

Draco didn’t release him at first. He held him closely, calmly, motionlessly. But Harry could feel his heartbeat, he could feel the way it raced in response to his words. It helped ease his anxiety to know that Draco wasn’t nearly as cool as his exterior implied.

“Do you mean it?” he murmured, still holding Harry close.

“I’m never going to be more ready than this,” Harry said honestly. “And I want to be in control of it, rather than letting Blaise do it his way.”

Draco finally stepped back and held Harry by the shoulders. His eyes glistened in the setting sunlight, gratitude shining behind them. He drew Harry’s mouth to his and kissed him softly.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

Over the coming days Harry came to realize that Draco had already put thought into how he wanted to present their announcement. Although the fact that he had envisioned it as an announcement rather than a series of quiet conversations was something of a surprise. Draco had ideas and reasons and he was determined to convince Harry to go along with them.

Two Saturdays later they visited Malfoy Manor for the first time since their meeting with the Exorcist. They Apparated on the front steps above the circular driveway.

“The designer told me weeks ago that work was complete,” Draco said musingly, “but I never scheduled a proper walkthrough. It just didn’t seem important anymore.”

“It’s still your home,” Harry pointed out. “You shouldn’t avoid it.”

“I know,” Draco nodded. “I just hope it’s different enough to overcome its past.”

“We’re not going to find out standing out here,” Harry jogged lightly up the steps to the large front doors, an inviting smile on his face. He raised his eyebrows and put his hand on the door handle, waving for the other boy to join him. Draco smiled in spite of himself and released the locks.

Both boys gasped as they entered. Light cascaded down from the high arching windows. Mirrors were placed strategically to catch the light and illuminate every corner. Brightly polished stone and gilded details reflected the sun’s rays and filled the space with warmth. Gone were the heavy, dark objects that had lent a somber gravitas to the previous interior. No looming gargoyles, no sobering displays of dark artifacts, no coat of arms or mounted weapons to suggest power and authority.

The rooms were even configured differently. Harry had only been inside Malfoy Manor once, but he knew immediately that the layout had changed. Draco seemed overwhelmed, his eyes wide with wonder as he gazed about the space. Harry led the way, striding purposefully from the foyer into the grand hall beyond the sweeping staircase. They moved from room to room, Harry remarking on this or that detail as Draco gawked silently at the changes. They found the kitchen where it was before, but this time revised to include an informal dining space and lots of accessible storage for entertaining. The formal dining room was warm, the parlor was inviting, the music room was filled with new instruments. They climbed the back stairs to the second floor and were greeted with guest rooms and seating areas that were equally enticing.

“Which room is yours?” Harry looked back and forth down the long corridor. The richly burnished wainscotting gleamed softly and the satiny buffed floors were overlaid with plush, intricately woven rugs.

“It used to be down there,” Draco pointed to the south. “But the master suite is up there,” He pointed to the north. “I suppose the master suite is mine now.”

“Come on,” Harry turned decisively northward and led the way. At the end of the corridor a pair of artistically carved doors revealed a sprawling bedroom with an enormous four-poster bed at the center. A seating area had been set up near the fireplace, a dressing area was waiting near a closet that was larger than Harry’s entire dorm room. Tall windows rose from floor to ceiling, and were hung with silk drapes that puddled luxuriously on the inlaid tile.

Draco’s face was stunned, his body frozen. Harry spotted his immobility and laughed. “I take it this is different, too?” he asked.

“It’s an entirely different house,” Draco said wonderingly.

“Is it different enough?”

“I think so,” Draco nodded slowly, as though in a dream.

“I’m sorry, I mean no disrespect but I have to try this out,” Harry took a running leap and jumped onto the enormous bed. He flopped onto his back across the oversized mattress, causing a cascade of pillows to tumble down on top of him. “It’s brilliant!” he cried, his voice muffled by the mound of bedding.

Draco snapped out of his dazed reflection and grinned. He ran and leaped onto the bed beside Harry and dug enthusiastically through the pillows to reveal the other boy’s grinning face. He seized Harry’s ears in his hands and dropped a kiss onto his mouth. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and held him close. It was too soon for desire in this bed, too fresh and unfamiliar were the surroundings. But they kissed deeply, passionately, lovingly.

Harry thought about their lives, where they were heading after graduation. They had repaired enough of the house on Grimmauld place to make it liveable. Draco would surely reclaim his family home now that it was complete. Harry would join the Aurors, and Draco would enter a prestigious Healer program. Their lives were aimed down different paths. Was it possible to bring those two paths together? Draco was surely pondering the same question, Harry thought.

Draco lifted his head and gazed down at Harry, whose face was still half buried in pillows. He gently brushed the bedding aside and slipped his arm beneath the other boy’s shoulders, caressing his hair and entangling their legs. A curious smile touched his lips, and something unreadable gleamed in his eye.

“Marry me,” he said.

“What?” An electric jolt shot through Harry’s arms and legs.

“Marry me,” Draco repeated, this time more firmly.

“Are you really asking?” Harry was dumbfounded.

“Yes,” a silly grin broke out on Draco’s face. “Will you marry me?”

Harry’s mouth worked silently as his mind reeled. “Can we do that?” he asked, honestly unsure of the answer.

“We can,” Draco brushed Harry’s hair back from his forehead. “We’re almost nineteen. Muggle law permits civil unions, and McGonagall said the Ministry will honor it.” He smiled smugly, “I did a bit of research this week to confirm, of course.”

“Do you really think we should?” Harry was stalling with questions while he grappled with the answer.

“I do,” Draco said firmly. “Be my husband, Harry. Make me your husband.”

“Husband and husband,” Harry said wonderingly. He’d honestly never considered such a thing.

“You don’t want to?” Draco frowned slightly.

“No, I do,” Harry said quickly. Draco’s expression morphed into a huge grin. Harry realized what he had said. “I do want to,” he said again. “I do want to marry you.”

Draco swept Harry’s mouth up in a kiss, and the two boys reveled in the thrill of it.


	16. Chapter 16

Life accelerated after that moment. There was much to be done and few weeks in which to do it. Draco approved the refinishing of Malfoy Manor and began the process of ordering his personal effects back into the house. He summoned the family’s house elves to return to work, although at Harry’s insistence he offered a sock to each so that their return was voluntary rather than compulsory.

They finalized their plan to make their relationship public in a controlled setting, disagreeing here and there on details but ultimately coming to a compromise they both could live with. Harry was nearly sick with anxiety, but he was committed to going through with it. Draco reassured him whenever possible that it wouldn’t be as bad as he feared. Harry worried about organizing such an event until Draco introduced him to the idea of hiring an event planner.

“No one plans their own parties, Potter,” Draco said with mock disdain. “We let the help take care of such things. You’re about to join the ranks of the very wealthy, it’s time to acquaint yourself with the lifestyle.”

They planned the event for the third week in June, immediately following the End-of-Term feast. Exams would be over, results would be in, and the students would be released from school obligations. The guest list included virtually every Hogwarts upperclassman and their families, all of the Hogwarts staff, every social connection Draco could think of who ever did business with his family, the entirety of the Ministry of Magic, and anyone else with significant influence. Lastly, they invited reporters from the Daily Prophet to attend, knowing they would cover it anyway.

“Might as well let them get the first-hand story so they can report it right away,” Draco justified. “Otherwise they’ll cobble the story together from guests and it will reek of gossip.”

He felt surprisingly calm about planning the event. He had been raised in social settings, and had attended more formal occasions than he could count. He knew what was expected, and how to deliver. The part about exposing his personal life to public scrutiny was a mere detail. He didn’t tell Harry that he had a backup plan if everything went pear-shaped. The Malfoy estate included several additional residences in Europe and overseas. If London wouldn’t accept them, they would relocate. He decided not to offer that option unless it was needed.

The invitations went out at the end of May, beautiful, elaborate, enchanted invitations that self-unfurled with fanfare and sparkling streamers. They had chosen to theme the occasion around the rebirth of the Malfoy name. It was intriguing enough for even the most reluctant guests, who may have harbored resentment against the once sinister family. The theme implied transition, the passing of the family name to a new generation, and explicitly mentioned the complete remodel of Malfoy Manor. They invited guests to arrive by carriage or Floo; no Apparation, please.

Only one invitation stirred its recipient to protest. Blaise Zabini, a strategically invited guest, stormed into Draco’s dorm room moments after the envelope arrived via owl post.

“What is the meaning of this?” Blaise huffed angrily as he threw open Draco’s door.

Draco looked up from his studies and regarded Blaise pityingly. “It’s an invitation to the event of the year, Zabini,” he said as though the other boy were a bit thick.

“I mean why have you invited me?” Zabini demanded. “You told me I was disinvited from all of your events.”

“Burying the hatchet, I suppose,” Draco set his quill down and gazed thoughtfully at his rival. “We used to be friends, and it would be a shame to end our school years together on such a negative note. Slytherins must stick together,” he added with a haughty, inclusive smile.

“Nothing has changed,” Zabini said meaningfully. “I have not conceded.”

“I realize that,” Draco turned back to his studies. “That matters less to me than you might think.”

“Don’t think for a moment that I’ve given up on my goal,” Zabini added.

“I would never think that,” Draco flipped through his text and resumed his note taking. “You are, if nothing else, tenacious. But please consider attending my party anyway. Everyone who is anyone will be there. You won’t want to be caught absent.”

Blase flounced from the room and stomped down the hall to the common area. Draco smiled to himself. The next few weeks would require great care, but he would see Zabini’s ambition crushed.

Aside from the one protest, the responses to the invitations were favorable. Notable social figures would be there in droves, possibly because it was always a good idea to cozy up to money. Draco was fine with that, it was part and parcel of belonging to a wealthy family. He would worry more when important figures no longer wanted to be associated with his money.

Around exams and party planning there was also the matter of the engagement to consider. The timing was such that it became a significant distraction to Draco and Harry. They couldn’t look at each other without grinning, without touching. They had to focus on preparing for their exams, when they wanted nothing more than to while away the time with each other. They had to stop meeting for study sessions because they simply couldn’t concentrate. They just needed to get through the first half of June. Once exams were over, they would finally be able to relax and enjoy each other fully.

Given the potential for distraction, Harry chose not to share the news of their engagement with Weasley and Granger until after exams. They had actually decided to keep it private for now, but Harry insisted that his best friends must be told. He wanted them to know before anyone else, and their acceptance was more important to him than anything. For the first time, Draco understood.

Exam week arrived with a bang and ended with a whimper. The seventh- and eighth-year students emerged from the N.E.W.Ts with battered spirits and anxious second guessing. There were no celebrations to be had, not until results were posted. The weekend after exam week was never particularly joyous, and this year was no exception.

Draco and Harry found Weasley and Granger after supper and asked them if they’d like to join them for a walk down to the lake. They strolled together down the front steps and through the gate to the rambling green lawn that led to the dock. Everywhere they looked they saw students sprawled in the grass, no joy in their postures, a mix of relief and worry. They walked side by side with their hands in their pockets, a foursome of friends to any observers. The dock was occupied by several would-be swimmers, if not for fear of the giant squid. Harry and Draco steered the Gryffindor couple towards the treeline in search of privacy. They climbed up on an old stretch of stone wall that had slowly been engulfed by trees and moss over the years. Harry glanced around furtively to make sure no one else was within earshot.

“What’s eating you?” Weasley asked bluntly as they sat on the unevenly stacked rocks. He was less tense than the other three, having been convinced by his girlfriend to pursue a career in animal studies. N.E.W.T.s were far less important in that field of study than others. Draco secretly wondered if Weasley could have simply written his name on the exam and handed it in blank for sufficient credit.

“We have some news,” Harry smiled bashfully and scratched his head.

“We know you’re coming out at the party,” Granger said in that know-it-all tone that used to drive Draco crazy.

“Obviously,” Draco said coolly. “We have some other news.”

“What is it, then?” Weasley looked back and forth between them.

“Well,’ Harry scratched his head again, and Draco bumped his elbow to get him to stop. “I don’t know how to say it exactly.”

“You brought us out here to say something that you don’t know how to say?” Weasley looked at Harry cockeyed. “You haven’t knocked any sense into him yet, have you, Malfoy?”

“Not quite,” Draco gave Harry a stern look. Harry cleared his throat and started again.

“Well,” he took a breath, “We’ve been talking and we made a decision. We’ve decided to get married.”

Granger and Weasley froze like statues. If Draco hadn’t known otherwise, he would have thought they were struck with Petrificus Totalus.

“Hello?” he raised an eyebrow. “Oh come now, it’s not that shocking.”

“How?” Weasley blurted out.

“How what? A man reads some vows and we say I do, that’s how.” Draco looked at Harry in amazement, “I expected surprise but this is ridiculous.”

“But,” Granger blinked rapidly as she absorbed the announcement, “but can you even do that? Two men? Is that even possible?”

“It’s permitted by muggle law, which the Ministry observes,” Harry assured her.

“Why?” Weasley managed another monosyllabic question.

“Why not?” Draco tossed back. Harry laid his hand on his arm to quiet his quick retorts. He bit his tongue and let the other boy handle it more delicately.

“Why does anyone get married?” Harry shrugged.

“To start a family, usually,” Weasley said. “And you two don’t have the proper equipment to do that.”

“That’s not true,” Granger stepped in. “I want to get married, but I don’t know when I want to start a family. If at all.”

“What does that mean?” Weasley’s eyes bugged out. “You don’t want to have kids?”

“I want a career first,” Granger said firmly. “You know that.”

“Okay so you two have some issues to work out,” Draco interjected in spite of himself. “That’s neither here nor there for us.”

“We could have a family someday,” Harry added. “Just not with pregnancy and stuff.”

“But what’s the difference between what you’re doing now and getting married?” Weasley still didn’t understand. “Can’t you just agree to be a couple and leave it at that? Why do the marriage part?”

“Because,” Harry looked skyward for help, “because we love each other.”

Draco reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Because we want it known that this is forever. It’s not a passing fancy.”

Granger teared up and clasped her hands beneath her chin. “I’m so happy for you,” she said breathlessly. “I’m sorry I didn’t say that right away.”

She leaned forward and threw an arm around each of them, hugging one on each side. It was like Christmas all over again, except this time Draco found himself hugging her back. Before he realized it, his arm was curled around her shoulders and he was actually hugging her. His cheeks burned furiously as he realized what he was doing. Hugging Granger! As if!

She felt it, too. She dropped a kiss on Harry’s cheek, then one on Draco’s. She glanced down at his arm, still in its half-embrace, and she smiled warmly. Draco cursed himself. Eight years of keeping the Gryffindor trio at bay with well-honed hostility, blown away in one sappy moment. He was marrying one of them, hugging another. What was next, a big sloppy kiss for Weasley? He shuddered at the thought.

The following week brought scores and celebrations, as well as some despair for the lower performing students. Draco and Granger scored very well, as was expected by all. Harry commanded a respectable score, even in Arithmancy, to his utter shock. He more than qualified for entry into the Auror Academy. Weasley performed well enough, average scores that were sufficient for any course of study he wished to pursue. Draco checked his housemates’ posted scores, noting Blaise Zabini’s excellent performance and Pansy Parkinson’s meager, albeit passable ranking.

With exams behind them, Harry and Draco were free to indulge in their desire to be close. And while they knew they had to be especially careful to avoid exposure by Zabini’s efforts, they made every possible arrangement to ensure they spent every night together. Now that their future lay so clearly before them, they wanted to wake up every morning by each other’s side. As Harry cleared his cluttered dorm room in preparation for his last departure from Hogwarts, Draco transported his belongings to Malfoy Manor. Over the weekend they visited the Manor to meet with the event planner and finalize the details of the party. Harry found homes for his possessions, as he and Draco debated the function of many of the rooms. Draco was used to occupying so much space, but Harry, who had once inhabited a cupboard under the stairs, had difficulty figuring out how they would fill the enormous residence.

“What do you mean I can’t put my clothing in this closet?” Harry demanded, standing in the doorway of the dorm-sized enclosure, a jumper in each hand.

“That’s my closet. The one next to it is yours,” Draco pointed as he unpacked more of Harry’s items from his trunk.

“You can’t possibly need that whole closet for yourself,” Harry protested.

“The other closet is right there,” Draco pointed again. “I’m not asking you to put your things out in the hall. It’s two steps away from my closet.”

“What are you planning on keeping in there?” Harry muttered.

“All of my love for you, Harry. It takes that much room," Draco smiled winningly.

Harry rolled his eyes, “I’m going to sneak one of my shirts in there one day, and you’ll never find it because you’ll never use all of that space,” he shook his head.

The End-of-Term feast was right around the corner, which meant their moment of truth, their public announcement, was almost here. They headed back to Hogwarts for their final day, their final supper, their final feast. They resigned themselves to the necessity of spending this momentous evening apart, seated at separate tables with their own housemates, pretending they were barely friends. There was nothing to be done for it, though, not if they wanted to save their news for their own event, which was scheduled to begin immediately following the Hogwart’s celebration.

The house cup went to Ravenclaw this year, a surprise to everyone in attendance. Draco recalled previous years when the only question was whether it would go to Slytherin or Gryffindor. Times had changed more quickly than he expected. He realized suddenly how quickly their legacy would fade from common memory. The lower classmen would create their own rivalries and legends, and aside from the most fantastic stories of their era, the names of Potter and Malfoy and the rest would fade like old newsprint. It was a sad thought, but Draco tried to focus his mind on the future.

The End-of-Term feast concluded and the students filed out excitedly. The upperclassmen rushed back to their rooms to change clothes for the fanciest party most of them had ever been invited to. Draco and Harry found a private alcove and Disapparated back to Malfoy Manor to do the same. They checked on the staff, the decor, the food, the entertainment, and rushed upstairs to get dressed.

Harry was a ball of nerves, jittery and fumble fingered. Draco had insisted that he buy a nicely tailored suit for the occasion, but Harry could barely button the shirt without help. Draco brushed his trembling hands away and slipped each button into place, speaking calmly and evenly to help soothe Harry’s anxiety.

“See, this looks brilliant,” he said brightly as he attached silver cufflinks to Harry’s sleeves. “Do you know how to tie a necktie? That’s okay, I can do it.” He slipped the tie under Harry’s collar, then stood behind him to tuck and fold it into a proper knot. He helped Harry into his jacket and buttoned the middle button. He turned the other boy and smiled encouragingly. The black suit fit like a dream, and made his green eyes stand out like emeralds.

Draco quickly dressed in his own suit, a neat charcoal gray cut perfectly to fit his long, svelte body. He knotted his tie with a well practiced hand and checked his hair to make sure it laid exactly as it should. Harry smiled lopsidedly at him in the mirror, glancing up at his own messy hair. Draco considered doing something about it, employing magic if necessary.

“I can’t do anything with it,” Harry said apologetically.

Draco reached up and ran his hand through it, savoring the familiar softness under his palm. He shook his head. “It’s you,” he said softly. “It’s perfect the way it is.”

Harry heaved a shuddering sigh and looked down. He adjusted his round glasses and ran a nervous hand through his hair. Draco watched him, taking it all in. The quirks, the gestures, the unconscious way he showed his state of mind, it was comforting in a way Draco found himself helpless to describe. It wasn’t just the happy moments, or the thrill of sexual exploration, or the ridiculous way their personalities ricocheted off of each other. It was the serious moments, too. The fear and the sorrow and the insecurity, and the way he knew he could fold his arms around Harry and offer him comfort, the same way Harry would do for him when he needed comforting. It was the way they could look into each other’s eyes, fully aware of their history and everything they had been through, and knowing that falling in love was inevitable and more right than anything else they’d done in their lives.

“It sounds like guests are arriving,” Harry cocked his head and listened to the rising sound of chatter downstairs in the great hall. The musicians had started playing, filling the house with upbeat, lively tones.

“We’re not needed downstairs yet,” Draco drew Harry over to the sofa and sat. “We’ll wait for everyone to arrive and then make our announcement. Then, if you want to, we can stay for the rest of the party. Or,” he held Harry’s hand gently in his, “we can just leave if you’d like.”

“Let’s see how it goes,” Harry chewed his lip.

They sat in companionable silence as the guests filtered in. Draco asked a house elf to bring them a running tally as the crowd grew. He made a mental note every time someone of importance showed up. He had a private list of names he expected to be present before he would consider descending the sweeping staircase for their entrance.

An hour and a half after the party’s official start, Draco stood and pulled Harry to his feet. He kissed Harry softly and looked deeply into his eyes.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” Harry smiled. He seemed significantly calmer. The anticipatory jitters had all but disappeared, and his posture said he was ready. Draco cupped his cheek in his hand and tweaked his ear.

“Let’s go.”

They exited the master suite and made their way down the long corridor to the sweeping staircase that led down into the grand hall. The enormous ballroom was filled with a celebratory throng, hundreds of guests milling about, eating and dancing and talking. They stood at the top of the staircase and looked down over the crowd, each picking out faces he had hoped to see. Draco saw Harry’s eyes fix on Granger and Weasley, who were standing near a set of French doors with the rest of the Weasley clan. Draco scanned the guests and spotted a few Ministry members whose presence he had deemed crucial in order to lend legitimacy to the event. He spotted the Daily Prophet reporters, and sitting at a table near the band he spotted Blaise Zabini.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the voice of the event organizer rang out clearly across the vast space. “Now entering the hall, your hosts, Mister Draco Malfoy and Mister Harry Potter.”

The crowd applauded and turned as one towards the stairs. Draco felt his stomach tense as hundreds of eyes focused on them. He felt Harry quake, but he stood his ground. They descended to the first landing, just high enough to address the crowd. Draco cleared his throat and dug deep, searching for the training his father had instilled in him for formal occasions such as these.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” he called out, his voice magically amplified by a charm cast by the event planner. “This is an ambitious event,” he continued. “We timed it to coincide with the end of the Hogwarts school year, our graduation, the delivery of our N.E.W.T exam results, and the completion of the renovation of Malfoy Manor. Which, if I do say so myself, came out better than I had hoped.” A round of applause agreed with his assessment. Draco smiled at Harry, who stood patiently by his side.

“For those of you who have been here before, it probably looks rather different,” he looked out into the crowd and nodded in acknowledgement of a few socialites whose faces he recognized from his father’s engagements. “There is a reason for that. Malfoy Manor needed a change. The Malfoy name needs a change.” He paused, and the room was absolutely silent. “For years the name Malfoy has been synonymous with darkness, with unspeakable evils, and death. My father, rest his soul, damaged the reputation of our ancestors, a proud wizarding family who does not deserve to be lost in the shadow of his choices. I will not live in the shadow of his choices.”

In the back of his mind, Draco marveled at the way in which he had captured the attention of the room. Not a shuffle or a cough or a whisper emerged from the sea of faces. He pressed on, hoping to get to his point before losing their interest.

“This event marks the beginning of a new era for the Malfoy name,” he continued. “I am the sole heir and thus I am solely responsible for the legacy I will leave behind. I am announcing today that Malfoys no longer do business in the Dark Arts.” A small murmur arose from the crowd. “I am also announcing that I intend to establish a relationship with the philanthropic community, and I am looking for new business partners to replace the Dark business alliances that I am immediately severing.” A louder murmur spread across the room. The tone did not sound disapproving, though. His words were having an impact, as he had hoped they would.

“To make my commitment clear I offer this evidence,” he removed his jacket, which Harry immediately retrieved for holding. Draco quickly rolled up his left sleeve and offered a clear view of his forearm to the crowd of guests. “The Dark Mark, which I was unfairly branded with against my will, has been fully removed,” he said loudly, raising his voice above the chatter as the crowd marveled and the closest guests confirmed for those behind them that the mark was indeed gone. “It has been a long and painful process, but more than symbolic of my rejection of my father’s dark ways.”

He rolled his sleeve back down and accepted his jacket back from Harry. He took the opportunity of the crowd’s disruption to slip it back over his shoulders and secure the middle button. He waited for the clamor to die down before speaking again.

“And one other announcement, if you’ll indulge me with another moment of your time,” he smiled warmly. The crowd hushed again. He took a deep breath, feeling the words in his throat, knowing there would be no turning back. “I am sure you are all familiar with the gentleman standing here beside me tonight. Harry Potter, whose reputation precedes him, of course.”

He had to pause again as the crowd applauded enthusiastically. Harry ducked his head and waved, his cheeks flushed pink. Draco turned to look at him, watching for any sign that he should not proceed. Harry nodded once and smiled without any sign of his previous anxieties.

“Harry and I,” he paused, his words catching in his throat. He took a breath and tried again, “Harry and I,” the words stuck again. Harry reached out and took his hand. The simple public gesture encouraged him and he found himself able to speak, “Harry and I are making it known tonight that we are together, that we are bonded together in love.” The murmur this time was more dramatic, punctuated by gasps as guests realized what he was saying. The reporters for the Daily Prophet started furiously snapping photos of the two boys standing hand-in-hand on the landing. It would be front page news.

“In fact I have to apologize for imposing upon you one last time,” Draco squeezed Harry’s hand. “We chose tonight to make our relationship public, and in fact be married right here, before all of you.”

The murmur rose to a crescendo as some of the older, more conservative guests protested loudly. Other guests hushed them, and some even cheered. Draco raised his hand for attention and called out over the din, “It is, of course, a fully recognized legal union under Parliamentary law, which is honored and recognized by the Ministry of Magic.”

The crowd hushed again as his words reached their ears. The protesters averted their eyes and muttered amongst themselves, dubious of his claim. Those standing near members of the Ministry quizzed the representatives, seeking verification. Heads nodded around the room, some reluctantly.

"We understand that some of you may wish to excuse yourselves from witnessing our union, so we have extended the party onto the back patio, where you are invited to enjoy the gardens," Draco gestured to the long line of French doors, which swung open on cue.

He paused again as the crowd shuffled around. Small clusters of guests made their way to the exit, some notable social figures among them but mostly nonentities whose opinions were unlikely to affect their future. He wasn't naive enough to believe that the majority who remained were all supportive of his announcement. He knew many of them remained purely for the spectacle. He was okay with that.

A regal figure in dark robes and a peaked hat separated herself from the crowd and ascended the stairs to the landing.

"Now arriving, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Headmistress Minerva McGonagall to officiate," the pleasantly bucolic voice of the event coordinator reverberated through the space, arresting the crowd's attention once again.

Professor McGonagall laid a hand on each boy's arm and smiled with authority. She conjured a parchment and seated her glasses across her nose. She took a breath and spoke, her voice so clear and ringing that the amplification charm was almost unnecessary.

Later Draco would think back on the ceremony with only a fleeting recollection of what was said. For the immense importance of the event, he would retain only glimpses and snatches of words. What he would remember most was the emotion, the overwhelming joy of the experience, standing before what was for all intents and purposes the whole world, declaring his love and commitment for the person he cherished most.

Harry would tell him later that he nearly fainted twice during the ceremony, and that his head was so filled with static that he almost couldn't speak. But he spoke, answering the right questions at the right moments, which was all that really mattered anyway. His voice was strong and unwavering when he said, "I do."

When Professor McGonagall extended her hand and offered the matching platinum wedding bands they'd selected the week before, they retrieved them and slipped them onto each other's hands without fumble or pause. They would both remember saying, "With this ring, I thee wed."

It was over so quickly that Draco worried briefly that they had skipped a part. Weren't wedding ceremonies usually longer than that? But sure enough, all that needed to be said was said and before they knew it the Headmistress of Hogwarts enjoined them to seal the union with a kiss.

Draco turned to face Harry and couldn't feel his fingertips. His face was beaming in a most un-Malfoy way. Harry was grinning, too, his cheeks flushed and his hands reaching. They kissed, and Draco's head swam with the realization that it had really happened.

The crowd applauded as the band at the back of the room played the classic wedding recessional music. The following days and weeks would inspire debates in households across the wizarding community about the role of marriage and whether same sex couples should have the right bestowed upon them. Many would support with the right, many more would not. But all would agree that it was nearly impossible to hold one's applause when two people shared their love in a ceremony of commitment.

Draco and Harry descended the stairs to the floor of the ballroom, hand-in-hand and smiling beatifically. As though coordinated in advance the guests queued up in a spontaneous receiving line so each could extend a congratulations.

Granger rushed to the front of the line, determined to be first to hug her best friend. She dragged Weasley across the polished marble floor and threw her arms around Harry's neck. She gushed excitedly into his ear and had to be pried free by her boyfriend. She then turned to Draco and threw her arms around him with equal zeal. Her face was damp with happy tears, which promptly moistened his collar.

Draco paused for only a moment before wrapping both arms around her waist. He hugged her back, returning only a fraction of her ferocity, but returning it nonetheless. As she flooded his ear with breathless well-wishes he realized that for better or worse Hermione Granger was now a permanent fixture in his life. He smirked. For better or worse.

Weasley pried her free again and swept his hand in for a hearty shake. He met Draco's eyes with reserved warmth, but his expression read acceptance. Draco clapped his hand to Weasley's shoulder and found himself unable to say anything.

"Oh come on, mate, it's a wedding," Weasley pulled Draco in for a manly hug. He pounded Draco's back and released him. Harry grabbed Draco's shoulder to steady him as he staggered for balance.

The line of guests seemed endless, but once it began they were obligated to finish. Draco kept a mental tally and noted which guests chose to abstain. Plenty of Ministry members chose to skip the receiving line, as did members of the most vociferous pureblood families who regarded themselves as defenders of the old ways. This was unsurprising, and the unending line of gracious party goers helped push any lingering concern about their absence out of his mind.

The Weasley family eventually made their way through, and Molly Weasley shed overjoyed tears on both Harry's and Draco's suit jackets. She was visibly conflicted about what she had witnessed, but she was unconflicted about her desire to see her unofficially adopted son happy. Arthur Weasley shook their hands firmly and wished them well with a touch of trepidation. The Weasley brothers jostled and joked about which one would be the wife and why hadn't Harry worn a gown. George was reserved but offered a compulsory congratulations. Ginny seemed stunned, and asked Harry for a chance to speak privately. Draco slipped his arm through Harry's elbow and smiled apologetically.

"You dodged a bullet, Miss Weasley," he said wryly. Ginny's expression was confused, but she moved on without further protest.

Their housemates moved through the line, too, many of whom were shocked by the evening's revelations. Neville and Seamus were both nearly speechless and were unable to offer more than, "Cheers, mate," when shaking Draco's hand. Pansy Parkinson wept openly, distraught over the notion that she would never have a chance to seduce Harry Potter. She slapped Draco on the arm angrily, then hugged him, then slapped him on the arm again.

Blaise Zabini hovered near the edge of the line and appeared for a moment as though he might join the queue of guests. Draco met his eyes, too generous with the joy of matrimony to revel in his victory. If ever there was a time to show the classic Malfoy sneer, it was now. But he just couldn't do it. Blaise met his gaze and raised his chin proudly, not quite an admission of defeat, rather a gesture of truce. Draco lifted his chin in response. Having dispensed with the only pleasantly he had to give, Blaise exited to the patio.

After what seemed like hours the line finally dwindled and Draco was able to lower his hand and waggle his exhausted fingers. They had received a surprising amount of support, particularly from classmates. He was satisfied with the number of Ministers who had remained for the ceremony and had personally offered polite congratulations. Several important business owners and social figures had also passed through the line, assuring him that his money was still good in the wizarding community.

They thanked Professor McGonagall gratefully as the line ended. The fact that she had agreed to officiate and had stood beside them through the entire guest procession was a strong endorsement of their union, one that made a statement about Hogwarts' stance on diversity. She had put her reputation on the line first by appearing at Malfoy Manor, and second by standing up for social change.

The evening was getting late but the party was still in full swing. Draco tapped Harry's shoulder and they slipped through the servant door to the kitchen. The cadre of hired chefs and resident house elves raised a rumble of congratulations as they passed through to the rear staircase which bore them up to the second floor. They walked quietly down the corridor, their dress shoes clicking on the wood floors and padding softly across the thick woven runners. They pushed through the doors of the master suite and fell onto the sofa before the ever-flickering charmed fireplace.

Harry raised his left hand and gazed at the ring on his finger. The cool platinum finish reflected the golden flames, curving and warping the light around the circular band. Draco lifted his hand and placed it next to Harry's, his band reflecting the same fire. Harry rolled his head over and regarded Draco with a small smile.

"What now?" Draco asked softly as he reached up and caressed Harry's bottom lip with his thumb.

"I don't know," Harry murmured.

"Do you want to stay or go?"

"Well," Harry looked to the fireplace for an answer. "We owe it to ourselves to have a proper honeymoon, right?"

"Certainly," Draco smirked. "Do you want to go now or in the morning?"

"Let's go now," Harry said firmly.

"Are you sure?"

"It took us eight years to get here," Harry turned to look at him again. "Let's not wait another minute."

Draco stood and crossed the room, retrieved a small wooden box from the bookcase and brought it back to sofa. He set it down gently on the table and lifted the lid. Inside was the portkey puzzle from christmas, two pieces of blue glass with uneven cuts along the inside edges. Harry lifted one and Draco lifted the other. They set them down on the table and slid them together until they connected with a soft click. A miniature brass palm tree appeared in the center, suspended in the translucent blue mass.

Harry retrieved his wand and flicked it, zapping the block and shattering the glass. The brass palm tree was freed and fell to the wood tabletop with a tiny clink.

Draco grasped Harry's hand firmly and they looked into each other's eyes. Their smiles were soft at first, then grew to a pair of roguish grins.

"Are you ready?" Draco asked.

"Let's go," Harry nodded.

Together they reached out and brushed the debris aside, then as one they grasped the portkey.

And just like that, they were gone.

*********************************************

END


End file.
